


The Wizard's Guide to ADHD

by StoriesbyNessie



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder, Hermione and Ron aren't really friends anymore, Implied Pansy Parkinson/Hermione Granger - Freeform, M/M, POV Draco Malfoy, POV Ron Weasley, Ron Weasley Has ADHD, inattentive ADHD, school campaign
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:15:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 29,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27299278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StoriesbyNessie/pseuds/StoriesbyNessie
Summary: Instead of going to Azkaban to pay for his crimes, Draco is sent back to Hogwarts after the war to attend a special program to learn about positive changes and to overcome fears of the unknown--in this case, Muggles.When writing an essay for this program about Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder, Draco soon realises that witches and wizards know very little about this and that the only things they know are based on an old book full of incorrect facts. Deciding to do something about it, Draco soon discovers that maybe all he needed to do was to care for the person having it first and foremost, not trying to educate a whole world.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Ron Weasley
Comments: 19
Kudos: 114
Collections: Expecto Patronum Fest 2020





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Hi! This was very special for me to write as Inattentive ADHD (formerly known as Attention Deficit Disorder=ADD) is something I am diagnosed with and have been for a few years now. Trying to describe in fiction what I am dealing with every day certainly wasn’t easy (actually very difficult if I’m honest!) and all throughout writing this I’ve been doubting myself a lot! It’s difficult to describe what’s going on inside my head, definitely my most challenging story to date. I could have written so much more on this topic, but time and real life just didn’t allow it. I would love to explore more in a sequel though—maybe someday! 
> 
> In any case, I hope you will enjoy this story. This was a story that’s been brewing in my head for a month, when I first got my prompt, but I wrote it in a couple of days. :P I have ADHD and in true fashion of that I, of course, put things off until the very last minute and then stress like crazy. 
> 
> Also, thank you to the mods for allowing me to play in this little fest. It was fun, interesting and actually healing in a lot of ways. Also thanks to Gcgraywriter for coming up with the name for the Potions professor! 
> 
> This is Grammarly beta’d. Any mistakes are my own.
> 
> Prompt I was given: Character A suffers from ADD and chronic misunderstandings. Character B decides what Hogwarts needs is a campaign to remove the stigma of ADD, but soon discovers that Character A doesn't need to be accepted by everyone, just by the one person that matters most to them.

**Prologue**

**_September 1999_ **

Rain was pouring down outside, falling hard to the muddy ground accompanied by a rough wind. Autumn was early this year, leaves already changing colour by the end of August. It was beautiful, or it had been for a short while. Now, it was just sad and ugly; it had been raining and raining and raining for several weeks in a row. Draco was tired of rain, tired of wind and tired of dirt sticking to his usually immaculate black shoes. It was tiresome to constantly cast cleaning charms over them. Pansy had offered to teach him a spell that could prevent the shoes from getting muddy at all, but Draco had yet to get around to have her teach him that one. Maybe this afternoon he would, he thought, sighing, as he leaned back in the chair, eyes still set on the window he was watching the world outside from. He was at Hogwarts, stuck in a room smelling terribly of incense, secretly wishing he could Apparate to a deserted island.

_“You do understand that the only reason the Wizengamot decided not to send you to Azkaban is because of Harry Potter’s testimony, don’t you?”_

_“Yes.”_

_"And do you understand why you have to attend the new class at Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry? The name of it is a little corny, I know, but what it stands for is not. It's the most important program the school has ever had, so you better do a damn fine job and learn something from it. I don't ever wish to see you back here again."_

_“I understand.”_

The conversation six weeks prior with an Auror at the Ministry had been a joke. Draco didn't know why Potter had done it, but, apparently, he had convinced the entire Wizengamot, and told them something about how Draco had been a victim of war too, that it ultimately saved him from going to prison altogether.

His father, however, did not get away so lightly; Lucius was now locked up in Azkaban for many years to come. His imprisonment had torn the Malfoy family apart: his parents were still married, and Narcissa would most likely stay loyal to his father and not divorce him, but what good did loyalty do now when he was in Azkaban? Draco's own relationship with Lucius had fallen apart, but even without the imprisonment, he had been sure that it would have sooner or later anyway. He had spent so many years striving for his father's attention and love until he had realised it had all been one messed up lie.

Instead of joining his father in a cell, Draco’s so-called ’punishment’ was to be sent back to the school. Of course, despite how good Potter’s testimony had been, he didn’t get away completely. There was still something the Wizengamot thought he should do, and it was how he was going to spend his life for the next ten months.

Ten months of what he was sure would slowly but surely drive him insane. Or drive him to drink. Whichever came first.

The school had just reopened after being closed for a year; it had gone through several thorough renovations after the battle and was now sturdier and more beautiful than ever. They’d been looking for volunteers in the Prophet to rebuild the parts of the castle and grounds that had been destroyed, but Draco hadn’t signed up for the charity project. He’d kept away as much as he could, not wanting to return only to be stared at and frowned upon—the days of popularity were long gone and replaced with disgusted looks and occasional (if he was really unlucky) slurs thrown his way.

Maybe the days of popularity had already disappeared when he decided to accept the dark Mark; it was hard to tell. With the skull and snake permanently branded on his left arm, the tattoo served as a constant reminder of what he used to be. _Who_ he used to be.

The Prophet had covered the entire rebuild, of course. Potter, Weasley and Granger’s faces had been on the front page almost every day, portrayed as the _Golden Trio_ followed by article upon article on the progress of the castle rebuild. While Potter was described as the war hero, Granger was in the lead of the rebuild, organising and creating unity, forming new inter-house bonds that hadn't existed in the same way before and working tirelessly to make sure everyone had something to do and felt safe.

_’It’s more than just repairing the damages,’_ Granger had said to the news-reporter, _'The healing is just as important. Pure-bloods, half-bloods and Muggle-borns alike need each other now more than ever; we offer counselling to those who wish it, but a lot of people also find solace and comfort in each other…'_

It had been so sickly sweet, that Draco had wanted to throw up. Potter had been interviewed too, but his interviews had been more about the trials and barely any about the progress of the castle at all. They also had an interview to make it public that Potter had been offered a position among the Aurors at the Ministry of Magic.

Normally, people who wanted to become Aurors needed to go through three years of training as well as a number of aptitude tests, personality tests and whatnot. But, since Harry Potter was The Boy Who Lived and the one to finally put an ending to Lord Voldemort, he was considered an expert at the shy age of eighteen and was offered a position immediately, no questions asked. He had—of course—happily accepted, as far as Draco knew. Draco wondered if there would ever be a time when Potter didn't set his teeth on edge. He was grateful for him in a way, but he knew deep inside that he most likely never would _like_ Potter. In any way. They would certainly never become friends, but unlike before, Draco could _tolerate_ him nowadays. Though it was barely.

He couldn’t help but notice that Weasley hadn’t been interviewed for the newspaper at all, merely appearing here and there in pictures and of course, featured on the front page. Draco had been a little curious and wondered why, but simply shrugged it off as Weasley being too shy or something. Or maybe too broken—hadn’t he lost one of his brothers in the battle? Draco’s stomach knotted unpleasantly; he never liked thinking about how many people that have died. A part of him would always, _always_ feel guilty about that. It was difficult to return to the castle for that very reason and difficult to see other people again.

The reason he was being sent back to Hogwarts was simple: the school had incorporated a new, mandatory program that had its test run this year, and Draco was the perfect test bunny for it. The Auror at the Ministry had been right; the name of the program was the most ridiculous Draco had ever heard. He’d scowled when he’d been given his timetable shortly before the year started: at the top of the parchment three times a week, it said **_Respect, Love and Acceptance._** The name of the newly founded program suggested that they would all sit around a campfire holding hands and singing songs until they were all the best of friends. For a brief moment, Draco had almost thought it was going to be that way too when he first laid eyes on the professor.

Professor Stella Pax was hired for this program only; she was a very bohemian woman in her early thirties, with long, purple hair so big and wild it almost rivalled Granger's. She wore big, round glasses, strongly reminding Draco of the ones Potter had, large gold hoops dangling in her ears. She was a Muggle-born witch, and her favourite thing in the world seemed to be talking about peace and love and how to overcome one's fears of the unknown. The unknown, in this case, being Muggles, of course. The theme for the entire new year was to accept everyone for who they were; the school's new goal was to build a Hogwarts for everyone, where they all could fit in and exist together in harmony.

Draco had grown up with that a student's House should be like a family—now the school wanted everyone to view each other as family regardless of what House they belonged to. It always sounded so lovely on paper, but Draco was sceptical. Pansy and Blaise—who were both at Hogwarts for the program as well, not because they had to, but as moral support as Pansy had claimed it to be—agreed. Draco had no idea who Pansy had shown her boobs to for both of them to be accepted into Hogwarts again, but he was glad to not be _entirely_ alone. At least that was always something.

“We’re going to have a bigger class assignment,” Professor Pax suddenly declared in a dreamy voice, reminding Draco of Luna Lovegood, sending shivers down his spine at the thought of her, “the deadline will be at the end of January…” She paused to point her wand to the blackboard chalk laying on her desk and charmed it to write for her on the blackboard as she continued to speak in the same far-away tone. “It’s a thing I’d like to call _Pay it forward._ By attending this class, you are considered the voices of Change, and you will use what you learn here to improve other people's lives for the better. I want you to go out into the world and do some good, and you will start here, right away in the school. Think about what you can do; it can be anything from a charity project to offering a stranger a smile or helping a friend through a difficult time. We've faced a lot of difficulties so far and will continue to face them and kindness goes a long way to make the world a little brighter even if it all seems dark now…" She paused again, her eyes slowly moving around the stuffy classroom to make sure they all were listening to her, "And by showing other people kindness and love, you will give them the tools to offer other people the same, creating a chain reaction. Be the Change you would like to see…"

Professor Pax droned on a long time about Change, diversity and respect. Pansy was a good girl for once taking notes to his right while Blaise sat on his left side with a smug look on his face and arms crossed over his chest. Draco himself now stared at Pax as if somebody had Imperiused him, listening intently, which was a vast change from before. A part of him was sure Professor Pax was absolutely deranged and that they all had lost it.

However, he wasn’t showing it half as much as Blaise did, occasionally sneering and shaking his head when the professor looked away.

_How the hell was other people ever going to accept them?_ They were Slytherins, and that alone was enough for people to steer clear from them. Draco was also an ex Death Eater, and even though he was the only one in their little group who had ever had associations to them, Blaise and Pansy were seen in the same way. People avoided them in the corridors and at the meal times in the Great Hall, whispering or staring as they walked by. Not being able to walk around in the castle without people throwing them dirty looks when the professors looked another way, the restored Slytherin common room offered the much needed solace and a place to be themselves without anyone judging them. But the younger students avoided them too, tip-toeing especially around Draco. Not that he wanted anyone bothering him, but the constant avoidance made him feel uneasy, only fueling the guilt. He hated it.

The charmed blackboard chalk wrote the word _Change_ followed by _A New Beginning_ in big letters and Draco knew that was what he wanted in his life. Change—a chance to start all over.

_Be the Change you would like to see._

Loony or not, Draco knew that he was absolutely desperate for something different. His whole life since the second of May 1998 had been skirted with anxiety and nightmares and guilt between the long hours of hearings and trials at the Wizengamot and dealing with his now broken family. This program was still bloody ridiculous, but at least Stella Pax had a point.

He wanted a new beginning.


	2. Chapter One: Ron

**Chapter one: Ron**

**_November, 1999_ **

"Honestly Ron, you've got to stop doing this!" Hermione Granger said exasperatedly over breakfast a Tuesday morning in the Great Hall. She sighed loudly; her hair bigger than usual which was a clear sign of an upcoming test. A test Ron hadn't studied for, because like so many other times before, he forgot. She hadn't reminded him, and Ron had _always_ counted on Hermione to remind him. The stress of just finding out had put him in a foul mood— they had argued all the way from the Gryffindor common room to the Great Hall.

“It’s not my fault you can’t be bothered to write things down!” Hermione continued, glaring at him from her seat.

“You didn’t remind me!” Ron shot back angrily, glaring too. Hermione looked like she wanted to scream at that, and she wasn’t the only one.

_“You’re nineteen years old; I shouldn’t have to remind you!”_ She hissed, slamming the book she’d been reading shut, before getting to her feet. “I’m not your mother, your personal house elf or anything like that! Get yourself together, Ronald!” With those words, she stormed out of the hall, leaving her half-eaten porridge behind.

Ron blinked, feeling his cheeks grow hot, suddenly painfully aware that the hall now was very, very silent; you could practically hear a pin drop. _Had he and Hermione really talked that loudly?_ Ron wished Harry was there to say something, _anything,_ but he hadn't returned to Hogwarts when the school opened up again, a year after the Battle. Harry had been offered a position among the Aurors at the Ministry shortly after the war ended and had happily taken it, eager to keep saving those who needed to be saved.

Neither Ron nor Hermione had been offered the same, and while the choice to return to school to finish her studies had been obvious for Hermione, Ron was simply there because his mother had forced him. Mrs Weasley had made it very clear that she didn't want another school dropout in the family; Fred and George had left school without graduating when Ron was in his fifth year, and anything associated with a school dropout made her think of Fred, and that always made her voice quaver before she pressed her lips together and quietly shut herself in the bathroom to cry. Ron had not dared to say to his mother that he really didn't want to return to Hogwarts, that it wouldn't do him any good, that he was doomed to fail anyway. Maybe his mother understood this deep down, or maybe not, it was hard to tell anymore.

Plus, Hermione had taken Molly's side, and after the war, after that kiss they'd shared, his mother seemed to expect that Hermione was going to be her future daughter-in-law. Especially since Hermione had temporarily moved in with the Weasleys—and she and Ron had tried to figure out if there was anything more following that kiss. It would have been perfect if it had been, Ron thought, something happy and beautiful amid all the sorrow and hurt. But that kiss had been the only thing ever happening between them—both of them quietly agreeing that it might have been a heat of the moment thing that in the long run didn't mean anything. Hermione often got impatient with him, and never seemed to trust him with anything. That first summer after Voldemort's death, they'd been helping out—or in Hermione's case, organising the entire thing—the Hogwarts School rebuild, and it had been a complete mess of summer to try to figure out where they stood.

When summer had turned into autumn, they had just given up and accepted that there would never be any _us_ between them. Ron suspected he should be sadder about it than he was, but in all honesty, he was fed up with Hermione's behaviour towards him and how much they argued. She reminded him more and more of his mother—and Ron didn't need another one. But he still felt guilty about not being honest with Molly; the way her eyes lit up when she saw them together told that she wished and hoped they would be a couple someday. Hermione had stayed in the Burrow with them for the whole year of the rebuild and when she applied to return to Hogwarts, Ron—very reluctantly—did too.

It hadn't been entirely without hearing his Mum and Hermione give the same speech, summarised in _’It will be good for you, Ronald.’_

_How the hell would they know that?_ For all Ron knew, he had never been good in school; never been brainy like Hermione. He couldn't take anything in, no matter how hard he tried; he couldn't remember simple things like when homework was due or when there were a test and classes were terrible— he always got distracted. Forgot to write things down. Hermione used to be his rock like that when they were younger; he was still dependent on her to keep him in check, and now she refused, constantly bitter and angry with him.

_The war made her bitchy_ , Ron decided, somewhere in the back of his mind remembering that Hermione might be in a sour mood because her parents were far away still, not knowing who she was anymore. Ron felt guilty for thinking that she was just bitchy, then his mood soured again. He had lost someone too; almost everyone had. They realised during the rebuild that almost everyone could see Thestrals now—too—and it only showed clearer when they returned as students only two months ago.

But he and Hermione had always argued or bickered as Harry had called it. It was only more now when Harry wasn't around to keep them together, and it wasn't just about school.

Hermione got frustrated with him for other reasons, too: how Ron never seemed to pay any attention to her or listen when she had something to say. Only yesterday she had called him insensitive when she'd gone on a rant about…Well, he had forgotten what about if he was completely honest. They'd been alone in the Gryffindor common room, winding down in front of the fireplace after a long day. It was usually the time Hermione wanted to talk, meaning that Ron was to listen to her go on for ages about things he couldn't give a rat's arse about and then provide an insightful opinion. He always failed in doing so—he couldn't help that he was so bloody tired! And he couldn't help that the things happening inside his brain were far more interesting than Hermione's excessive talking.

He never knew when Hermione was finished talking either, he more often than not interrupted her in the middle of a sentence and he hadn’t even realised she was in the middle of one. How was he supposed to know when she took her sweet time, pausing here and there to think? When he pointed it out to her, she didn’t take it well and the night had ended in a shouting match that continued this morning and ended with Ron now sitting by himself like an idiot, barely knowing what had happened.

Hermione's anger had increased when she learned that the test they were supposed to have had slipped his mind altogether, and she had threatened to owl his mother. That was Hermione's grand triumph card because she was well aware that Ron always wanted to be on his mother's good side—especially now when she was still so fragile and broken after his brother's passing… Ron had managed to hold his tongue when she said that—which had been a victory—he had very nearly snapped back that at least he _had_ a mother to send letters to. Hermione's parents were a sore subject for her, and bringing them up would have just been mean. That was another one of Ron's issues: he had a hard time controlling his temper, especially when he was stressed and felt pressured. Learning about a test he should have known about definitely made him stressed. Ron felt so stupid and ashamed— _how the hell did he manage to miss that?!_

_It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay,_ he thought desperately to himself, scrambling to his feet. The watch he was depended on before had stopped working during the summer, but he had a feeling in the pit of his stomach that he now was incredibly late. There weren't many students left in the Great Hall lazily lingering after breakfast, and that usually served as a reminder.

_When was the test? Was it now?_ Merlin, he didn’t know.

Ron rushed out of the Great Hall without any real thought of where to go and no other Gryffindor—or other same-aged students— in sight he could ask. They weren't really taking classes with the seventh years, the so-called eighth year was something very special: all of them sort of together regardless of House in an odd mix, though people tended to keep to their own common rooms anyway. He and Hermione were two of very few who had chosen to return after the Battle, those who didn't graduate in the seventh year when they were supposed to, chose to not graduate at all.

_If only he’d had the guts to be one of them,_ Ron thought bitterly, then he wouldn’t be in this situation. The timetable he had been given at the start of the year was _somewhere,_ shoved deep beneath a lot of rubbish in his trunk back in the dormitories. Ron sighed— if he fucked this up, his mother would never forgive him, which he could bet his head on was why Hermione brought it up when they were fighting. He walked up the stairs, taking two steps at a time, stressing. Ron even tried thinking back to what book Hermione had been reading at breakfast, that usually gave him a clue. But he had been so busy arguing with her that of course that little detail had slipped his mind. He scolded himself inwardly and scolded Hermione too. Why couldn't she just have _told_ him about the test and told him if it was now or later and if it was later, then what lesson they had now so he could fetch the books for it. Why couldn’t she take care of everything?!

_’I’m not your personal house elf!’_

Hermione's voice in his head reminded him once again of the argument and made the anger he had managed to calm down a little to flare up again. Ron balled his hands into fists and kicked something invisible, almost falling in the process. His clumsiness made him even angrier, and Ron decided in that moment that it didn't matter anyway. The bells had rung a couple of minutes ago—whatever lesson he had he was late anyway. He just had to skip this one.

_You could go up to the dormitories and find your timetable and your books for the right lesson. It’s okay if you’re a little late. If you explain, the professor might—_

_Fuck it,_ Ron muttered beneath his breath, ignoring the anxious voice in his mind. He was too tired anyway, tossing and turning most of the night, not being able to relax. His legs had ached all through the night too, and he’d felt so bloody restless.

He had started having trouble sleeping again. Ron had gone through a long phase of that shortly after the war—he hadn’t been able to sleep much during the Horcrux hunt either, but this was different. No, not _different_ in that sense—the sleeplessness after the war, _that_ had been different. This was more familiar, but it didn't make it any better. This was his usual sleeplessness talking, and he couldn't say that he had missed it. Ron was very sensitive to not being able to sleep; it usually made him very grouchy, and that probably contributed to why he and Hermione fought some much now too.

Suddenly Ron felt a pang of painful longing in his chest. _Fuck,_ he missed Harry. He missed Harry, especially those restless, sleepless nights when his legs ached the most because he was so tired, but his brain wouldn't shut up, and the bed beside his in the dormitories was mournfully empty. Harry would've kept him company if he was around. He always had, just as Ron had kept Harry company when he struggled so much with nightmares, and it used to be the two of them before Harry fell in love with Ron's little sister and everything changed.

Ron swallowed hard; no, he couldn’t think about that either.

He stopped dead in his tracks, realising that his mindless walk had taken him to the library.

He glowered at the doors for a moment before deciding to step inside. Ron didn’t know what had made him go there, maybe he’d subconsciously hoped that Hermione would be around. Even though he knew she wouldn’t be. He walked past tables and empty chairs, flopping down in a chair in a secluded corner behind some bookshelves. He could sit here for a while— at least until the first lesson was over. There was a clock on the wall in front of him, charmed not to tick too loudly. If he just kept an eye on that, he would know when the hour was up. And then, Ron thought firmly, he would go up to the dormitories, find his ruddy timetable and the books needed for the next lesson.

It was just that he wasn’t alone at the table as he first had thought. Someone else was there too; someone Ron hadn’t seen—or rather, barely _had_ seen—since the day of the Battle.

_Draco Malfoy._

He sat there in a chair by the large table, his hair just as light as it always had been, shoulders tense-looking beneath the school shirt, and he was pale, paler than Ron remembered him being. A book lay open in front of him on the table; it was small and not very thick. Ron couldn't help but wonder what he was reading, and he couldn't help that he looked a second too long—too surprised to realise that this action might be considered rude. Or weird. Well, truth be told, someone like Draco Malfoy probably thought every person looking at him was rude or weird anyway.

The Hogwarts library was also the last place Ron would ever expect to see Malfoy in. He wasn't really aware that Draco was back here. If Ron had not been so caught up in his own thoughts and very distracted that day Harry had come to the Burrow straight from the Auror's department at the Ministry, he would have known that Harry had told him, Hermione and the rest of the Weasley family, that the Wizengamot had decided that Draco was going to go back to Hogwarts and attend that new program they'd started up this year. But that day Ron had been particularly distracted because Harry's eyes had been really, _really_ green in the light of the fireplace, and—

“Hey.”

The word slipped out of him before Ron could stop himself and he wasn’t sure if it had come from him or not until Draco looked up from his book, and Harry’s green eyes in Ron’s mind vanished and was switched out to a pair of very real, stormy grey meeting his own blue across the table. The Slytherin’s eyes widened a little at the sight of him, seemingly surprised, before Draco remembered who he was and scowled at him. He didn’t answer, only quietly returning to his book.

Ron suddenly wanted Draco to say something; it was weird with him sitting there and not saying anything back when Ron only had tried to be nice. Or whatever. He shouldn't want to talk to Malfoy, but his surprise got the best of him, and it became almost a challenge to make him speak. So instead of shutting the hell up and leave the Malfoy heir alone, Ron pressed further:

“It’s rude to not say hello back when someone says it to you.”

Ron thought—a little smugly—that he had the power over Draco in this situation. Malfoy couldn’t hurt anyone anymore. Ron had been on the good side, the _right_ side of the war, fighting alongside Harry for freedom and peace. Malfoy, on the other hand, had been a Death Eater. He’d let the Death Eaters in at Hogwarts. Voldemort _had_ _lived_ in the Manor and Draco had done nothing when Hermione was tortured there by Bellatrix. Draco was a dickhead. Ron had never liked him much, and after he'd tried to hex Malfoy in their second year with that slug-vomiting spell and failed, Ron was more than a little happy that he'd managed to punch the stupid bouncing ferret in the face beneath Harry's cloak in the Battle. If given a chance and he was riled up enough, he'd gladly do it again.

Without a doubt.

Malfoy still didn't answer, but he didn't move either, and that sparked Ron's interest. He wanted to open his mouth and say something more—all the arguing with Hermione had made him want to press buttons; he just couldn't help it. Malfoy was the perfect target. Not that Ron would ever be mean to anyone that didn't deserve it, but it was different with Malfoy. He deserved things like that because for as long as Ron had known him, he had always been so mean. He deserved everything horrible; deserved to know who he was. A foul, weak, ex Death Eater. But at that moment, Draco had chosen to lean back in his chair, both hands holding the book and the cover was suddenly visible to Ron. It wasn't a cover that stood out much, but Ron could recognise it _anywhere._ Without being able to see the title, he could definitely tell what book that was.

And that discovery threw him off completely. Ron forgot everything about who Malfoy used to be.

“Why are you reading _The Wizard's Guide to ADHD?_ That book’s _rubbish!”_

It was. Ron hated it almost as much as he'd always hated Draco growing up or hated when he missed dinner. It was the same book his mother had in her bookshelf in the kitchen, sandwiched between _Gilderoy Lockhart’s guide to household pests_ and a purple cooking book. It was the only book the Wizarding World could provide on this topic, and the reason Ron’s family had it was because—

“How would you know that it is, Weasley?”

Cut off mid-thought and a little bit startled that Malfoy actually had spoken to him, Ron blinked, gathering his thoughts. Staring at the Slytherin for a moment, he said, very defiantly,

“Because I have that. ADHD, I mean. And that book’s full of shit. Lots of prejudice.”

Ron tilted his chin up, about to add that _lots of prejudice_ were something Malfoy certainly was familiar with so maybe it suited him that he read that then. However, he never got that far, because Malfoy scrunched up his nose in disgust as if smelling something foul and put the book down on the table again. He then turned to Ron, eyebrows raised, looking incredulous.

"Really? There's not much on this subject; it was the only book I could find, so I thought—"

“Yeah, I know. It’s the only one we have in this world, seems like. But as I said, it doesn’t give you a proper view of what it’s like actually _living_ with it." Ron's cheeks coloured a little, knowing that he might have said too much and why couldn't he keep his bloody mouth shut?! This was still Draco Malfoy and who knew what he was like now. For all Ron knew, Draco could be exactly the same as he used to be when they were boys. He looked sleep-deprived as fuck though, Ron noticed, there were purple bags under Malfoy's eyes, and he was still thinner than usual, and his light hair had lost its shine. Malfoy tilted his head to one side, seeming to think about something very deeply. Ron kept staring, unsure of what to do while his mind went on its usual race. He finally looked down on the battered wooden table when several minutes passed without Draco saying anything else. It was very awkward, and the silence made Ron feel very uneasy; his palms had become all sweaty, and he felt a little nervous. He almost laughed because of how uncomfortable it was. Ron started tapping his fingertips against the table, drumming them against the hard surface to take charge of this very weird situation. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Draco look at him.

"Hmm, it doesn't surprise me that you have it though, Weasley," the Slytherin said thoughtfully, a hint of a smirk now playing on his lips as Ron once again met his eyes, "I've been taking classes with you for years. Lazy, bad manners, never know when to shut up…Always thought your parents had just failed in raising you, but apparently, it had an explanation…"

_Oh yes, there it was._ So Malfoy was still an arse; a mean little prick. For a moment, Ron had nearly doubted it; he gave him a murderous glare.

“See, that’s the load of rubbish I’m talking about,” Ron said viciously in reply, nodding to the book. “That’s not how it is at all. Everyone just thinks it is, if they know about it at all, that is.” He blushed more, Merlin, him and his stupidly large mouth. _This is still Malfoy you’re talking to, and you haven’t seen him for bloody ages. Why the hell do you say so much? It’s not like he’s going to care._ He should have retorted with something mean—like initially intended. They hated each other.

But to his surprise, Malfoy's smirk vanished just as fast as it had come, and he averted his gaze. "My apologies, Weasley," he said quietly, flipping through the book, "Old habits die hard, don't they? I don't know why I said that."

"Doesn't matter," Ron hastened to say, very surprised that a) he'd actually taken it rather well, and not flown across the table to punch Malfoy in the face like he had fantasied about just moments before. And b) that Malfoy actually _chose to apologise._ The Draco Malfoy Ron knew would never dream of saying sorry; he’d rather run across the Quidditch pitch naked, Ron was sure of it. “it’s alright. I don’t like you much still, to be honest, so…Suppose it goes both ways, eh? And I know just about everything you just said can be found in that book too…” he added, knowing very well that it did, “And like I said, it’s rubbish.”

Draco nodded slowly; Ron noticed how his cheeks were a little pink. “Yes, I suppose.”

"But everyone sort of says that, so…" Ron continued, his mind still screaming at him to shut the hell up because _this was Malfoy_ and since when did Ron talk to Malfoy like a normal person? Or not really a normal person…Well, talked to him like a person. “It’s not very common among wizards so guess that’s why people have their own ideas sometimes about it. I don’t know. But mostly, I guess, it’s not talked of at all.”

Malfoy didn't answer. He kept reading, and Ron wanted to leave, but he couldn't move; it was as though he was frozen in his seat.

More minutes ticked by. Ron looked at the clock on the wall, Merlin, he’d already been here half an hour. Talking to Malfoy. _Why was he in the library again?_ Right, shit, the stupid test Hermione hadn't reminded him about. He had skipped it, or a regular lesson if the test wasn't now. But if it wasn't now, when was it then? Why was his brain so chaotic, and why hadn't he written anything down? Why was he so useless?

And why did Draco read a book about ADHD?

Ron had known that he had it since he was thirteen years old. When he was in the hospital wing with his broken leg after being dragged by Sirius Black into the Whomping Willow, Pomfrey had wanted to run a couple of scan spells on his brain and, in addition, also asked him to do some tests once he was well enough for them.

Then before Ron knew it, his Mum and Dad had been owled into Hogwarts for a meeting.

They had all been standing around his bed that day: Molly, Arthur, Dumbledore, McGonagall and Pomfrey. The matron had explained her discoveries to them and why she had chosen to test Ron. She had wanted to perform the tests after noticing a few things in him that she had rarely seen in any other witch or wizard before. How he always fidgeted in his bed and how peculiar it was that he didn't seem to have any patience for most of the schoolwork while he could play chess for hours without getting tired of it. Speaking to McGonagall, she had also seen how Ron's grades were very uneven, more uneven than a 'normal' students were and how this could be explained that Ron didn't have the patience for subjects that didn't interest him. Her results from the tests were also supported by a long interview with Ron's parents where they had been answering a lot of questions on how Ron had been as a child before he got accepted to Hogwarts.

_“It isn’t very common in wizards,”_ Pomfrey had said to Mr and Mrs Weasley when everything was done, “ _but it seems like your son has what the Muggles calls Attention Deficit Hyperactive Disorder. In Ron's case, he has what they call Inattentive ADHD, formerly known as A.D.D: Attention Deficit Disorder. My tests show that Ronald has some Hyperactive tendencies as well and he's also impulsive, but his problems mostly lie in being disorganised, lacking focus and he's very forgetful. It's not a disease; it's a disorder and, while it's rare in the Wizarding World, it's very common among Muggles. It's something Ronald most likely has lived with all his life and will continue to live with. The Wizarding World knows very little about it as it isn't prioritised in medical research, but I suggest that you take this book with you when you go home; it should give you all the information that you need…"_

It had been a weird day, Ron remembered. He supposed it had come as a bit of a shock to his parents, the _'Hey, your son has a broken leg, and it also seems like he has a mental disorder we know very little about, but it's called Attention Deficit Disorder, but don't worry, everything is cool…'_ It must have felt like a slap in the face, at least Ron had thought it had felt like it. Harry and Hermione hadn’t been around to hear the news; Ron had waited to tell them until they were on the Hogwarts Express back to London. He still remembered how his mother had looked completely stunned and how she had tried to argue that she was a mother of seven children and all her children had been showing signs of restlessness at times; it was normal that a child fidgeted and no one is interested in exactly _everything_ in school; Ron couldn’t possibly have anything that was wrong with him; it just wasn’t possible.

_“Nothing’s wrong with your son,”_ Pomfrey had said very patiently to Mr and Mrs Weasley, _"he just has some difficulties concentrating and sometimes gets lost in thoughts, and he has some trouble organising—but it's nothing wrong with him. He may need some extra help or some adjustments to have it a little easier in school but other than that…He's still the same boy; nothing has changed. It's nothing very strange, it's just a little unusual in the Wizarding World, but like I said, it's more common among Muggles. They have more knowledge about that than we do, so if you like, you might be able to see a Muggle doctor, but I am not sure that you would need that. He's not sick."_

_“Of course he’s not,”_ Molly had snapped. _’Nothing is wrong with Ron. I am surprised that you thought it was needed to-to check his brain like that!”_ She’d screeched, upset. Ron hadn’t known what to say; he’d just wanted Harry and Hermione there for support. Hermione had been rather doubtful as well, agreeing with his Mum that Pomfrey might have been jumping to conclusions regarding that. Hermione had gone to a regular Muggle school before she got accepted into Hogwarts and she had told Ron and Harry about a boy in her class that had ADHD. He had been _nothing_ like Ron was, so that couldn’t possibly be true.

_“You could do with putting more effort into your schoolwork though,”_ she had said, _“Just like when you put all that effort into helping me with the Buckbeak case. If you gave that much energy to all your schoolwork, you’d have wonderful grades in no time, I’m sure!”_

But that had been different. Ron had been _invested_ in Buckbeak—he had wanted to help Hagrid more than anything. And Hermione had fought so hard to save that Hippogriff, and it wasn't right that she did it all alone.

"What do you do here, anyway?" Ron said, his mouth once again having a life of its own. "At Hogwarts, I mean?"

Malfoy raised his eyebrows; his facial expression blank. He opened his mouth to answer, but in that moment another person Ron hadn’t expected to see, popped up out of nowhere. Pansy Parkinson’s school skirt was illegally short, swishing around long, tights-clad legs.

"There you are," she said promptly to Draco, completely ignoring Ron, or maybe she wasn't aware that Malfoy wasn't alone. "I just got our updated timetables. We have Potions soon." She brandished rolls of parchments in front of Draco's face, and he took one out of her hand.

“Thank you, Pansy,” he said shortly, picking up his shiny black leather satchel from the floor. “Suppose we better get moving then.” Ron watched quietly as Malfoy put the book and the timetable in the satchel, before flinging it over his shoulder and leaving the table without as much as a word.


	3. Chapter two: Draco

**Chapter Two: Draco**

"Thank you, Pansy," Draco reiterated, shooting his friend a grateful smile as they walked together down the corridor.

“Not to worry, darling,” she beamed back at him. “It’s not my favourite subject in the world, but at least you won’t be alone now. I’m sure my self-sacrifice will reward me in the future.” She winked at him.

Pansy Parkinson. The forever humble one. Draco smirked to himself—he really appreciated her. It was good to have her in his life, especially when she fixed so they could attend the Potion classes again. Draco was grateful the Headmistress hadn’t wanted to see him personally right now, that Pansy could take care of everything. Perhaps he should buy her those earrings she’d mentioned she wanted for Christmas as a reward.

Draco hadn’t meant to take up any extra classes. He was only back at Hogwarts because of the program. But coming back here as well as everything that had happened after the Battle had made him think, evaluate his whole life. Draco promised himself when he came back here that he wanted to do a change. He wanted to be different so his chest wouldn't hurt so bad anymore. People seemed to almost believe that he was made of steel when that wasn't the case at all. He was just better than most people at hiding things.

He had thought taking up Potions again would be a good place to start this change. Draco had always been good at Potions, and he was very fond of the subject. He hoped to advance that skill; what he wanted to do with it, he didn't yet know. Draco looked forward to something else in his schedule rather than the _Respect, Love and Acceptance_ course three times a week—it was nice with a change.

Everything in Draco's life was about that now. His relationship with his family had changed a lot since Lucius was imprisoned and his mother had bought a cottage near the coast, not wanting to live in the Manor alone. The Ministry had very nearly taken the Manor away from them, but Narcissa had managed to put a stop to it; how Draco didn't want to know. Now it was standing there empty like a haunted house, collecting dust. For all Draco cared nowadays, it could do that forever. He never wanted to go near his childhood home _ever_ again, regardless of how much he had loved that place growing up. It was nothing more than bad memories now.

Also, the news about him, Pansy and Blaise being back at Hogwarts had spread like wildfire and when people could confirm it with their own eyes…Well, Draco didn't much like being looked at like he was an art piece at a Museum. It had been worse back in September when the school had just begun for the term; now when it was November, things had calmed down a little. Other students mostly left them alone. Pansy and Blaise seemed to cope with it better than Draco did, and Pansy especially served almost as Draco's human shield. Well, he wouldn't admit it out loud, but it was nice to know that she was around and that the once popular students could be outcasts together. Well, in a way.

“You know who’s looking _really_ attractive this year?” Pansy said, grabbing Draco’s arm and leaning in close, lowering her voice. Her dark hair almost tickled his cheek. “I almost can’t believe it, darling, but seriously…”

“No, who?” Draco asked, smiling a little.

“Granger,” Pansy declared in the same low voice. “Saw her earlier…She has certainly changed; she’s definitely not the same frumpy-looking girl I used to know. Do you think she is in our Potions classtoo?”

“I don’t know, Pansy,” Draco replied, amused by her comment. “You’ll just have to wait and see, don’t you?”

The fact that Pansy found the Granger girl attractive was a bit hard to understand for him, and if he was completely honest, he hoped that her little infatuation was just temporary. It had come out of nowhere. Draco wished to steer clear from Granger and Weasley, not feeling entirely comfortable to be in the castle at the same time as them right now.

So far it had all gone brilliantly well—up until this morning when he’d accidentally seen Weasley, or rather, Weasley had seen him, in the library. Not exactly the place where he would expect to see the youngest Weasley boy; Draco had been just as surprised as the redhead had seemed to be. He had been even more surprised when the other man had spoken to him—so surprised that it was _Draco_ himself who had dropped the first jeering comment and not the other way around. What had been even more shocking was that Weasley had been… _nice_ about it, too.

Of course, Weasley had the odd Muggle disorder Draco had spent all of last week researching. It felt extremely typical in a way Draco couldn't quite explain, but all the same, it made so much sense. Everything Draco knew about Ronald Weasley seemed to fit so well with the descriptions he had read about in the book and the small information he had gathered about the disorder from Madam Pomfrey. Though he could understand why Weasley didn't like the content of the book—it was rather harshly written and had a bunch of theories if _Attention Deficit Hyperactive Disorder_ was even real. Draco remembered he had frowned a little when he first started reading the book, wondering himself if he could believe the facts or not. But Madam Pomfrey said there wasn't much to go on about it, that _The Wizard's Guide to ADHD_ was the only book the Wizarding World could provide on this topic and when Draco questioned if he could trust that it was a learning disability, she hadn’t been able to give a proper answer.

_“It’s hard to say, Mr Malfoy,”_ she had said, _"I very rarely see this type of problem in young witches and wizards, but the ones I have discovered having it doesn't seem to have any difficulties learning—however, it can be hard to keep up interest for them, and I'm sure it varies too. But like I said, it's very, very rare and we don't know much about it. Some believe it's a learning disability, others don't. Since people have proven to live good, long and healthy lives anyway, medical research hasn't bothered looking into this disorder that much. I advise you not to dig too deeply into this either."_

Well, to not dig too deeply was not an option for him now when he was already this invested; he wanted to do a good job and get a good grade. Draco had chosen this subject to research for Professor Pax's class, and he was hellbent to get it right.

A couple of weeks ago, they had had a special double-lesson with a theme on different types of diseases and disabilities that could affect Muggles and then each student had to pick an illness (or disability) from a list to write an essay about. There had been lots to choose from, most of them very common diseases that the Wizarding World knew how to cure in an instant, and Draco would never have to worry about. None of them sparked his interest enough to want to write an essay about, until he had seen the four letters at the very bottom of the parchment professor Pax had let pass around the classroom. _ADHD._ He’d been interested from the start, the simple four letters appearing so intriguing to him. He didn’t know what they stood for, and not knowing was part of the thrill. Though the subject itself didn’t seem so interesting when he had asked Professor Pax about it, the more he read about it, the more it grew on him even if he had a little trouble understanding. The information in _The Wizard's Guide to ADHD_ sounded so much like the affected person was just plain lazy (and that alone made Draco's mind instantly jump to Ron Weasley) and only needed to get themselves together. And then in the library just now…

Weasley was living with this and would obviously know more about it than any book, Draco thought. Was it worth talking to him again to get a bit more information about this?

Draco had sworn to stay away from Weasley and Granger upon returning, but obviously, that promise was broken now. Weasley had sauntered in and broken it for him; perhaps it was a sign.

Professor Pax had been pleased with him when he’d chosen the subject.

"Oh, that's an interesting one! People with ADHD have a very different way of thinking," she said, smiling as he handed in the form they'd been given to fill out what disease or disability they wanted to write about. "We don't know much about it in this world, so I am excited to see what you come up with. It's a challenge, for sure."

"Yes, we'll see," Draco replied, confident he could write something good if he did some research. Draco had always been good in school—he was no Granger, but he did better than most people—and he really wanted to prove to both himself and others that he was more than just the ex Death Eater. He hated that title and how people threw it around, and he hated the skull and snake branded on his arm—the disgusting forever stamp of a young, desperate boy going through a difficult time. A difficult time that ended with so many people losing their lives—all because of a power-hungry dark wizard who was obsessed with getting rid of 'unworthy' people. Draco's previous beliefs didn't make any sense to him now—quite the opposite. It made him want to throw up, but people were still stuck with the image of the person he used to be.

_I’ll spend my entire life washing it off if I have to._

Draco had promised himself that when he got away so lightly for his crimes. As much as he hated to admit it—even to himself—he was very grateful for Potter. Without him…Draco could have very well been next to his father in a cell in Azkaban.

"Oh, Potions just got more interesting," Pansy said a little while later when she, Draco and Blaise had taken their places in the dimly lit Potions classroom. She jerked her head towards the door, and Draco had barely turned in that direction before he heard the very familiar voice of Granger.

_“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Ronald!”_ Granger burst out exasperatedly, whipping around so fast that Weasley almost walked into her. Her hair bounced with the rough movements, cheeks flushed from anger. Weasley looked rather sullen too; it was clear that the two of them had been arguing for quite some time.

“I can’t believe you!” Granger went on, now throwing her satchel up on one of the worktables, “You haven’t taken anything seriously since we got here! You skipped the class this morning, just because you can’t be bothered to keep track of anything yourself, making me feel all guilty that you keep missing things! If your mother knew—”

“Shut up about her; how many times should I have to tell you?!” Ron spat, voice rising in frustration. Hermione threw him a murderous glare and hissed something in response, reminding Draco of an angry cat.

“You’re an idiot!” Draco heard her say at last, “Just a massive idiot.”

Ron opened his mouth to retort, but at that moment, their Professor entered the classroom, and the opportunity was lost. Draco realised that professor Slughorn was gone, replaced by another, younger Professor. Since the opening, the school had apparently hired a lot of new professors Draco wasn't familiar with. Not that he ever thought highly of Slughorn—it would be good with a new Potions Master that he wouldn’t be so judged by. Hopefully.

Though the fact that the old man never could get Weasley’s name right had been rather amusing; Draco couldn’t deny that.

"So Slughorn's gone," Blaise remarked beside Draco in a dry tone. "What, did he die? Of old age, I mean, not in the war obviously."

"Shut up, will you?" Draco said, "You're rude."

“Oh, Draco, I forgot to ask,” Pansy leaned in close, whispering excitedly over the new Potions Master talking, “How was it seeing Weasley in the library earlier?”

“You saw Weasley?” Blaise quirked an amused eyebrow.

"If you three would stop talking," the Professor said in a loud voice, turning everyone's attention to them, making Draco wish he could disappear from the surface of the earth. "We could continue with this lesson."

The new Potions Master was handsome, possibly reminding Draco a little bit of a young professor Snape, if Snape would have had a side career as a model. He couldn't be more than twenty-five and had piercing green eyes that glinted in the faint light, and dark, shiny hair. It was a little strange to have a professor so close to them in age and especially when he basically told them to shut up—it didn't exactly have the powerful effect he'd obviously hoped for. Draco felt the light vibration of Pansy stifling a giggle next to him before she managed to get herself in control. The Professor gave them a stern look before proceeding on with the lesson.

Every eighth-year who was interested in taking Potions classes was currently in this classroom, regardless of House. They were an odd little group—the nervousness could almost be felt and made people shift on their feet a lot more or turn to their friends for that one little comment they just _had_ to say while the Potions Master turned his back. They also gave Draco and his friends a lot of looks. The Professor didn't introduce himself, as if he almost expected everyone to know his name anyway. Well, Draco supposed that everyone did, he, Blaise and Pansy had jumped in on this class in the middle of the term after all.

Almost as if reading Draco's thoughts, the Professor turned his eyes on them, looked at his parchment on the teacher desk for a moment before looking back at them. "Ah, yes, I see that we have new people in this class—my apologies, it must have slipped my mind. I haven't expected anyone new; you're not on my list," he said dryly, nodding to them. "I recognise every face and every name but not yours." Not only did he look like a young Snape, but he also almost sounded like him too, his voice dark and drawn out. It was more than a little creepy; a chill ran down Draco's spine at that. He was starting to feel a bit sweaty, standing still, unblinking.

"That's okay," Pansy spoke up, and Draco didn't need to look to know that she had put on her sweetest smile. He also had spent enough time with her to know that it was one of her falsest smiles too. "It was finished just this morning; I have a note here from the Headmistress." She dug around in her bag, holding out a parchment to the Professor a couple of seconds later. "I should have given you the note when we came in here, sorry."

The Professor waved his hand impatiently. "I don't need any notes; just tell me your names thank you so we can carry on."

"Pansy Parkinson," Pansy said, voice calm and collected, "And this is Blaise Zabini," she gestured to Blaise, "And Draco Malfoy." She put a comforting hand on Draco's arm when she said his name. He could feel the warmth of her palm through the fabric of his thin shirt, and it provided just the comfort he didn't know he needed.

Draco didn’t know why he felt a little uneasy. He just did.

"Draco Malfoy?" The Professor asked, his eyes, now narrowing, on Draco for a few seconds too long. "Oh, right, I should have known. I know who you are. You are the—" He pointed to him but cut himself off before he could say anything else, though the entire classroom in the dungeons knew what he wanted to say.

_You’re the ex Death Eater._ The _ex_ was up for interpretation; it depended on who said it. Some people were convinced that Draco had never stopped having prejudices; he never wanted to be interviewed and featured in the Prophet despite having been asked several times. They had covered the trials though, and he'd been pictured by photographers following him in the streets, but everything written was Nothing more than gossip.

"Never mind," the Professor said in a tight voice. "Let's move on."

The Potions class was Nothing like Draco had expected it to be. He had expected to excel in that class—Potions was one of his best subjects—and he hadn't been bad, but the new Professor, who's name Draco still didn't know—had been somewhat cold and judging towards him. He was still thinking about it hours later when he and Pansy retreated back to the Slytherin common room, sharing a bottle of red wine. Blaise was off somewhere unknown, and nobody else but them was in the common room. People tended to avoid them whenever they entered a room—even if they belonged to the same House. Draco was glad that Pansy and Blaise had been willing to follow him back to Hogwarts and suffer through the _Respect, Love and Acceptance_ program with him and now the Potions class too. He wasn’t sure if he would be able to do it alone, though he didn’t want to lean on them both too much. Especially not Pansy, who he was closer to than Blaise.

Draco wanted people, but he also didn't. It was a difficult topic to dance around and left him never really feeling satisfied. People annoyed him, especially when they stared at the Mark—though he had occasionally stumbled upon the odd wanting to be recruited to the Death Eaters people—or if they didn't stare, it was something else that bothered him. Pansy Parkinson could be terrific, but she also could set his teeth on edge like nothing else.

Another person that had always set Draco's teeth on edge like Nothing else was Ron Weasley. Draco had been a little bit surprised to seeWeasley in Potions class after the encounter in the library, he had to admit that. Potions wasn't exactly Weasley's forte. Draco had been busy feeling a bit edgy during the whole lesson and hadn't had the chance to observe Weasley as he in hindsight would have liked, with the new Professor breathing down his neck.

He didn’t want to, but it could be really good for his grades if Weasley was willing to be… _interviewed_ for his essay. But how? It wasn’t like he could casually saunter up to the Gryffindor tower and politely ask Weasley to come outside and answer a few questions.

"So how is the assignment going?" Pansy asked, reaching for her wine glass on the coffee table. She raised a meaningful eyebrow to Draco over the rim of her glass as she pressed it to her lips and took a sip. "The _Pay it forward-_ thing I mean, not the essay she’s forcing us to do.”

“Hmm?” Draco looked up from the parchment he’d propped up on Pansy’s legs. They were lazily sprawled out on a sofa in the Slytherin common room, Pansy in one end and Draco in the other. Pansy had her long, lean tights-clad legs in Draco’s lap; she had taken off her shoes after a long day and now wriggled her toes through the thin, black fabric.

“We’ve got to start that one soon,” Pansy continued, sighing. “I have no idea what I’m doing. I’m not sure I even know what she wants. Hmm…” She thought for a moment, looking up at the ceiling, holding the wine glass against her chin. “What does Granger like? I can do something that’s certain to catch her attention.”

“I don’t know,” Draco said quietly, scribbling down something on the parchment with his quill. “Since when have you started caring about her?”

"Since this morning," Pansy declared, "When I told you about her, remember? In any case, I'm young and pretty, she's young and pretty, there's no time to be wasted. I've decided I want her and you don't have anything to say about that, and neither does Blaise."

"I don't think Granger's attracted to other women," Draco shot her a glance at his own comment just to enjoy seeing Pansy throw him a murderous glare before her facial expression softened and she shook her head, dark hair bouncing around her shoulders.

“You don’t know that,” she said, voice full of determination and confidence, “And besides, that can be changed, don’t you know? Women are experimental and willing to try all sorts of things. I know this. Millie has never looked back after our adventures…” she smirked as Draco made a face at that, and muttered beneath his breath that Millicent Bulstrode was never much liked by boys anyway, “and neither has Luna.”

“Luna Lovegood?” Draco’s eyebrows now shot up in surprise which made Pansy look thoroughly pleased with herself, “When did you and Lovegood…”

“Oh, ages ago!” She rolled her eyes. “Never mind _that_ now—I want Granger, and that's final."

"If you say so." Draco tapped the parchment thoughtfully with the point of his quill. Pansy sounded like a spoiled child that demanded the most expensive toy in the shop, and Draco was very unsure how that was going to go. Pansy was a beautiful girl—even he couldn't deny that she certainly was, her dark hair and eyes exciting contrasts to her otherwise light features. But trying to hand over Granger's best friend to the Dark Lord a year ago wouldn't sit well with Hermione Granger. She would most likely not look twice Pansy's way.

"Speaking about wanting Gryffindors…So you and Weasley in the library today, huh?" She tilted her head to one side, looking amused. "What was that about? I leave you alone for a short while, and suddenly you share a table with _him.”_

Draco stopped tapping his quill against the rough paper. “I have no idea what you are talking about. I absolutely did not plan that, so don’t give me that look. I was doing some reading and suddenly when I looked up…he was there.” He furrowed his brows, thinking. “However, something quite peculiar… He recognised the book I was reading. And he said it was wrong because he apparently has this ADHD diagnosis.”

“Oh?” Pansy’s voice was full of interest. “Really?”

“Yes. It had me thinking. If that book is wrong…Well, I suppose Weasley must know a lot about ADHD since he claims he has it. If I talk to him, I might get a better grade on the paper we have to write. Would also be interesting to know why he considers what the book says to be so incorrect.”

“Bending the no speaking to the Golden Trio rule are we?” Pansy’s eyes gleamed. “Well, you obviously, _I’ve_ already decided.”

“Yes, you’re a traitor.”

“Only a little.” She grinned. “Well, what do you want me to do?”

Pansy and Draco had become so close since the Battle, that they seemed to share an almost telepathic bond. It was good but mostly bad. Good because Draco sometimes needed it: all Pansy had to do was to take a look at him, and she just knew. Bad because she wasn't always right (though she could always tell when something was troubling him, even if she didn't always know what) and when she was, it wasn't often Draco wanted to hear it either or have her fix things. In all honesty, he _never_ wanted her to fix things, but Pansy Parkinson had a way of doing it anyway, or at least try to. Now she sat up straight, almost spilling the wine in her glass.

_I want to be able to talk to him,_ Draco thought. _But how?_

To Pansy he answered: "Nothing. You do Nothing."


	4. Chapter three: Ron

**Chapter three: Ron**

The following week, Ron was called into Headmistress McGonagall’s office. Hermione had seen it coming from miles away, and she wasn’t late to point it out to him over lunch the same Thursday afternoon. 

“You’ve been skipping so many classes lately, I am surprised you even showed up to the Potions class last week!” She reprimanded over her bowl of tomato soup.

“I probably wouldn’t have gone to it either if I hadn’t run into you in the corridor,” Ron snarled back. Potions last week had been a mess. He hated the new Potions Master—Professor Philtre (or whatever his name was) was shit. His annoying face made Ron want to flip tables just because of how infuriating it was and the lesson before, he had handed Ron back an essay with the comment that it was _barely_ passable, and it had put him in a terrible mood. It _still_ made him angry to think about it. Hermione sided with Philtre of course, and that only made Ron angrier. She always sided with everyone else that wasn’t him, especially if they were teachers or his mother. Their friendship was hanging on such a thin thread nowadays, that Ron wondered how exactly they were going to get through this year without Harry around. The past months since the term started had been nothing more than pain and frustration. Mostly on Ron’s part; deep inside, he might have some form of understanding for her, that she only wanted to help him. But no matter what she said, it didn’t help. He often felt like she didn’t understand him, and truth be told, he really didn’t understand himself either.

It felt like he had a ball of yarn in his head constantly. He was embarrassingly dependent on somebody to help him sort it out and tell him what to do because he so very often got lost and caught up in thoughts and whenever that happened, the world around him ceased to exist. It especially happened when somebody spoke to him, and it happened, even more, when that person also scolded him about getting his shit together. It hurt him when they said so—especially if it was Hermione—but the longer she droned on, the more numb he was starting to feel and the more her voice then subdued in his ears. She had nagged and nagged ever since they got here, which Ron didn't have to ask to know that it was his mother's doing. Well, partly anyway. Hermione had a natural habit of nagging him too, he knew that.

Mrs Weasley loved how responsible Hermione was and would often give Hermione praise for it and say to Ron that he should take after Hermione’s example. She sometimes mentioned in her letters how good Hermione would be for him too and already was in a lot of ways. Ron wondered if his mother was afraid that he would turn into Charlie, who still lived in Romania and still was very, very unmarried, much to their mother’s dismay.

“I can’t believe you, Ronald,” Hermione snapped.

_Fuck off,_ Ron thought bitterly, but at least he had the decency to keep his mouth shut. He was so tired; when would she get that he didn’t want to be here? When would anyone listen to him ever? Ron was tired of hearing how lazy he was and tired to hear that he just needed to try harder. Didn’t anyone realise that he already worked so hard on it?

They all were well aware of his diagnosis too, but nobody ever mentioned it or took it into account when they told him to just get his shit together. _Act like an adult,_ they said. _Grow up._ No one _ever_ talked about the Inattentive ADHD. Despite having that ADHD-book on the shelf at the Burrow, his mother, especially, always liked to pretend that Ron’s diagnosis didn’t exist. She, as well as others, often explained it away as Ron liking to be in his own little world.

Ron got scolded constantly for being lazy. That was everyone’s favourite way of describing him. He hated that. Hated how they never could understand.

He could sit with his chess set for hours or read countless books about Quidditch and playing the sport was calming to him, but things that were boring were almost impossible to get done, even if he really, really wanted to do them. Then people—mainly Hermione and his mother or fucking _Percy_ —would tell him that life wasn't only about doing the fun things, he needed to put up with the boring sometimes too. And Ron got that, he really did, but when it came to homework or cleaning or anything like that, it was like his body and mind refused to cooperate. He would start the essay or pick up the socks from the floor, thinking that he would really try and he could even see in front of him how proud they all would be when they saw what he had done, and then they wouldn't nag again.

But then everything would fall apart, he would get tired, his mind jumbled and he couldn't get himself to obey. Homework was awful because he thought it was so boring, he would put it off and off and off until he couldn't do it anymore and had to panic his way through it, which always led to it being sloppy. _If he handed it in at all, that was._

Lessons were also hard. It was hard to wake up in the morning; he very rarely heard the alarm spell go off or if he did, he often ran late anyway and sometimes it was so late that there was no point in going. He often forgot books or materials needed for each lesson; there were so many things to keep track of. How did everyone else do it? It seemed like they all had special superpowers they had forgotten to share with him.

There were those situations where he stressed so much about homework that instead of studying and focusing on getting them done, he would end up just sitting there, staring frozen in a state of panic and anxiety when the deadline got closer. Homework, assignments and everything like that was always so tricky; they were often so hard to get through because of how boring they were that he almost couldn't stand it. It was a bad circle because not getting them done stressed him immensely.

Ron didn't know the secret to take notes either, no matter if it was in class or from a book: how did everyone know what was important enough to write down?

Cleaning was hard too. He wanted to do everything so thoroughly. But it was so overwhelming, and he would forget the cleaning charms and end up making even more of a mess. He didn't _want_ to have it untidy around him either, but he just couldn’t help how his room at the Burrow or the dorms always ended up so messy anyway. Ron always lost things, anything from his wand to his stupid timetable or quills or pieces to his chessboard and then he just _had_ to turn his room upside down to find it; how else was he going to do it? Especially when his wand was gone; he needed that bloody thing to do magic _for fuck’s sake!_

Why couldn't people see that he tried so hard? Did they really think he wanted to be here with awful grades and not knowing what to do after school? It seemed like everybody had a plan all the time while he felt so incredibly lost. And so weird and different. Did people really think he was this way for fun?

A part of him hoped that the Headmistress would expel him because it was easier getting expelled than to actually work up the courage to leave on his own accord. If he got expelled, he could live with Harry for a while until he found someplace else to live. He and Harry got along well; it would be amazing.

_No,_ the voice in his mind gently reminded him, _you can't get expelled either. Your mother would hate you forever. And you know Harry lives with Ginny, and she wouldn't want you to live with them. Harry only sees her anyway nowadays, so… You don't matter to him anymore._

The words stung. No, Harry didn’t care about him the same way anymore, he knew that.

Upon learning about Ron's Inattentive ADHD diagnosis, Harry had been supportive right from the start. He understood why Ron had trouble to concentrate, or why he easily stressed or was in a mood and Harry often worked as moral support for him, despite having so much to deal with himself. Ron found solace in Harry's friendship and his whole being really, sticking to him like glue. It helped that Harry wasn't really an overachiever in school either, they got through schoolwork because they had each other, and Harry's loose efforts made Ron feel like he wasn't the only one. Ron felt so inadequate next to Hermione, and he felt so judged by her. But not Harry…Harry had never judged or looked at Ron like he had ten heads. He never complained that Ron didn't fit the template like his mother wanted him to do. Harry had liked Ron just the way he was…Well, up until Harry realised he preferred the company of Ron's younger sister and ditched him.

“Do you listen to anything I say?!” Hermione waved a hand in front of Ron’s face. Ron blinked, realising that she had been talking—what seemed like a while too—and he hadn’t heard a single word she said.

"Nope," he said, getting to his feet. He was tired, the night had been slow and restless. Ron had barely slept; his brain wouldn't shut up, and it had driven him into a state of overthinking. He didn't look forward to the meeting that he was called to now right after lunch. He felt Hermione's eyes on him as he left the Great Hall, and he wondered if he should feel guilty or not. A part of him already did.

"Mr Weasley, it's come to my attention that you have been missing classes." Former professor, now Headmistress McGonagall, peered at Ron over her spectacles a half-hour later as he wrung his hands nervously in his lap beneath the desk in her office. The air was stuffy in the room, and the portraits on the walls coughed awkwardly as they followed the scene. Ron didn't like meeting eyes with her, so he concentrated looking at his hands, fingers constantly moving. In just five minutes, Ron had been playing with the fabric of his school robes, twirled his wand, and now he was wringing his hands almost obsessively.

“It has also been brought to my attention that you haven’t been handing in assignments either,” McGonagall continued, reading aloud from the notes on her desk. “And the ones you have handed in have been very poorly written. Your grades are not looking very good. Miss Granger has been here a couple of times; she seems to be very worried about you. I have to say, Mr Weasley, that I am also quite concerned, which is why I called you here today.”

_Hermione had been here?_

Ron felt himself blush under McGonagall's scrutinising gaze. Was it just him, or was it really warm in here?

“I know you have had some trouble since before,” his former Transfiguration professor said when Ron remained quiet. “I know last year’s events were difficult too…They were for all of us, of course. But we also have to move on even if things hurt. If there’s anything I can do…Anything you need help with? I think Miss Granger would be kind to offer if you just asked.” She smiled at him, but it looked tense. Her head was tilted to one side,a quill firmly placed in her right hand.

That was everyone's solution, wasn't it? Let Hermione Granger help you. His mother was the same way; Hermione was apparently the solution to everything. There had been a time Ron thought so too because it had been easy. But Hermione, Ron wanted to scream, had no fucking patience with him. Half the time when they were younger, she had ended up doing his homework instead of helping him get through it. It was partially Ron's fault, he supposed, he'd never been able to sit still and concentrate and some subjects he just didn't get. Divination had been fairly easy; he'd just copied off Harry or made things up to make Trelawney happy. It had very often worked too. But that had been the only subject.

The only thing Ron really liked was Quidditch, and that was a subject he couldn’t even be graded in. Quidditch and chess.

He felt so weird for not being able to do the things everybody else could. For not being able to plan correctly, for not being able to pull things through, get them done on time. He was such a mess, and people should just know how much he _hated_ himself.

_Just try harder. You don’t try hard enough. You just have to try harder._

_Try harder._

_Try harder._

_Try harder._

It all echoed in his mind.

“Are you going to expel me?” Ron croaked the question, finally daring to look at his former Transfiguration teacher. He knew he had wanted it before, and thought about it many times during these couple of months, but now sitting here in her office, it made him sweaty and nervous. His mother would have his head if he got expelled. It was only a year, not even that, ten months, and he couldn’t do it. He was such a worthless piece of shit.

But McGonagall looked at him similar to the way that Dumbledore had done when he was twelve and drove his dad's flying car to Hogwarts with Harry. "Not today Mr Weasley," she said, and Ron was hit with a feeling of deja vu, a chill running down his spine. Her voice was stern and a little cold when she added, "but yes, much like Miss Granger, I am worried about you. You ought to take your schoolwork more seriously because otherwise, I do not see the point that you are here. Your future is at stake, and I'd rather not see you throw it away. I cannot write to your family about this because you are a wizard of age and have the right to decide for yourself—the choice to leave the school altogether is available for you too, of course, and if you decide that is something you wish, I cannot stop you. But…" she paused for a moment, before continuing, "I hope you reconsider if that's the case. Because, if I didn't know that I know you can do better, I would have expelled you today, but it just so happens that I want to give you another chance and I hope you take it, that you make the right decision for yourself."

Ron nodded slowly, his mouth all dry. McGonagall’s eyes rested on him.

“Make the right decision,” a portrait said wisely.

"As it is now, you are repeating the fourth year all over again," McGonagall noted, jotting something down on the parchment. "Don't repeat the mistakes you made as a boy."

Ron swallowed. Fourth year…seemed like such a long time now. It was; he barely remembered what had happened now; a lot of his memories were hazy. Except that he and Harry had not been friends for a while because Ron had thought Harry had managed to put his name in the Goblet of Fire and back then it had felt just so typical. His best mate always got the glory and all eyes on him, and Ron had felt… Well, he supposed he had felt jealous.

He'd also felt angry at Harry because he thought that Harry hadn't shared how he had put his name in the goblet with him and their friendship had just been falling apart for a couple of weeks at that. Ron had started skiving off lessons back then, just to avoid him, and he'd had an even harder time doing homework because he'd been so angry with Harry. His mind had raced constantly; he had held such a grudge against his best friend, and it was hard to let go of and think about something else. It was hard to support him because he had been so occupied with his own emotions. Hermione had tried to reason with him—reason with them both—but it had been to no avail.

It had also been hard to see it from Harry's point of view, no matter how much he had tried to explain it. Ron had seen nothing else than how hurt he was and how Harry only destroyed everything. It was the first time they had ever fought like that, and it had almost killed him. The memories were blurred, and Ron would rather not think about what he had done at the time. He didn't remember too much either, and that was probably a good thing.

No, he wouldn't repeat the fourth year. He took a deep breath. Ron never wanted to see the disappointed look on his mother's face if he failed or quit. No, he couldn't let that happen. She was far too broken and too hurt after Fred's passing. She didn't need him screwing everything up as well.

This time he would change. He needed to try harder. Filled with a new fighting spirit, he decided to start all over. It wasn’t too late; it was just November. He could fix everything over winter break and the new term. He could turn everything around; after all, McGonagall seemed to believe he could.

Ron wanted to start planning. He wanted to change.

"I won't," he said with a face full of determination as he met the Headmistress's eyes. She nodded curtly in reply. "I'll try harder. I'll get myself together." He very nearly said that he would get his shit together, but McGonagall would disapprove of that particular wording.

"Good, Mr Weasley. And oh before you leave, there's something else too. I've been notified by Professor Pax--one of our new professors-- that we have a student writing an essay about this disorder of yours—Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder, was it? The student in question would like to interview someone with this diagnosis for the essay, and you immediately came to mind. If you agree to do this, I can give you a bit extra time to prepare for the Transfiguration test that you missed last week and have you take it next term. Have you thought about possible careers, Mr Weasley? If Auror is something you're striving for, then you ought to take the Transfiguration classes more seriously."

_Oh shit, right,_ Ron had forgotten about that. That test that he and Hermione had argued about that he had ended up missing altogether. He still hadn’t seen the new Transfiguration professor about that, he’d been avoiding her like the plague. Truth be told, he’d barely been aware that it was Transfiguration he had missed. Fuck, this was already not working out. He needed a bloody journal or something to write things down in. He had a bit of extra money, he should go to Hogsmeade and get himself some notebooks and quills and whatever the hell organised people used.

“Mr Weasley?”

“Sorry, what?” Ron blinked, his mind going from the Transfiguration test back to the Headmistress office. McGonagall was studying him thoughtfully again—he almost shrank beneath her gaze.

“Would you be willing to be interviewed by a student about your ADHD diagnosis for their essay?” Asked McGonagall patiently. “If you do, I could make sure that you are able to retake last week’s test in Transfiguration next term.”

Ron bit his lip. “Okay. I guess.” It sounded weird, but if it could help him…Then sure, why not.

McGonagall gave a curt nod, the chair squeaking behind her as she pushed it back and rose from her seat. “Good. I think it could be rewarding for you. I’ll follow you out; I’ve asked him to wait outside.”

Ron got to his feet and was behind McGonagall when she walked out of the Headmistress office, and his eyes fell upon both a familiar and at the same time, unknown face.

Draco Malfoy.


	5. Chapter four: Draco

**Chapter four: Draco**

“Thank you, Headmistress,” Draco said as politely as he could. McGonagall nodded and left them after telling him that a report back wasn’t necessary.

Draco watched her leave and then when she was out of sight, he turned to Weasley, who looked like he had agreed to play chess with a Blast-Ended Screwt.

“Should have realised it was you,” Weasley muttered, giving Draco a mixed look that was hard to decipher. “You were the one that read _The Wizard's Guide to ADHD;_ I reckon you’re the only one that has done that. Except for me and a few others of course. Like my mum.” He looked down on the floor. “So, an essay about ADHD, huh?”

"Yes," Draco said in a strained voice. "I-I'm here attending some kind of program for-because of the events happening in my past. One of the many assignments is to write an essay about a Muggle disease or disability, and well, Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder was on the list. I chose that."

_Yes, this came out so well._ Draco wished he had prepared something to say—he always knew what to say any other day, but this day his tongue did not want to play ball.

Weasley blinked a few times, looking at him. Then, just as Draco was about to lose his suddenly non-existent patience, the redhead started to laugh. And laugh.

“They’re making you study Muggle-things!” He said, shaking as he pretended to wipe a tear from his eye. “Oh, that’s just too good. Serves you right honestly. So you take Muggle studies or something?” He added once he calmed himself a little.

“No.” Draco was irritated; this was not amusing at all. “It’s a special program that I need to go through. It’s what I got instead of a cell next to my father’s in Azkaban.” He refused to say the name of the program; it was and sounded so incredibly silly that it was best if Weasley remained unknowing.

“Oh.” Ron’s face became serious again.

"In any case," Draco said quickly, afraid Ron would throw himself into another fit of laughter, "I remember what you said when we met in the library. About the book I was reading about this Attention Deficit Disorder not being very good. Well, you told me you have this disorder so I thought that perhaps you can provide a better point of view than what any book can do anyway. If I'm allowed to interview you, I could get a better grade on my essay."

“I wouldn’t count on it. Teachers go by the book anyway when it comes to this thing,” Ron said grimly. “It’s always been like that. Everything wizards know about ADHD is from that book. It’s like a bible almost to those who have read it.” He shrugged. “McGonagall has basically forced me to help you anyway, so yeah, I’ll help you, but I dunno if it would do any good.”

Draco almost felt sorry for Ron at that. He looked tired like he had given up a long time ago about this. He was so curious to find out Ron's history about this rare disorder he knew so little about. He thought for a moment, then smiled at him, probably for the first time ever. "Shall we go to the library? Seems like a fitting place to discuss this. Well, if you're free right now, that is. I am. I don't have any plans this afternoon."

“Yeah, sure.” Ron nodded.

Draco had thought going through McGonagall to talk to someone who suffered from this condition would be the easiest, even if going to the Headmistress felt like sinking low. But it made the most sense in his head. He supposed he could have walked up to Weasley in the Great Hall during mealtime or tried to look for him in the library again—if he would come to the library that was—or talked to him in Potions since they were yet again in the same class there. But to approach him just like that had felt strange; it wasn't in Draco's nature to do. Talking to the Headmistress had been his best bet, and he had prayed that there weren't many students in the school who had the same disorder. That Ron Weasley would more or less be the only one.

Yes, he had been right. Not that McGonagall had mentioned Weasley's name or anything like that. But she had told him about a same-aged student that could be of help for him if the student agreed, that student Draco already knew about of course. Then it had been up to Ron, and yes, here he was.

Now Draco just needed to do this thing so he could get a good mark.

They chose the same secluded corner they had met the first time in. It was yet again empty. It was Draco’s favourite study spot in the library—hidden from view from prying eyes. Draco was glad that they hadn’t met anyone on their way from McGonagall’s office to the library on the first floor, especially not Pansy. He did not want to deal with her right now or answer her curious questions. Or Blaise Zabini, Salazar forbid. That made him inwardly shudder.

“Alright,” Ron said, tossing his tatty school bag on the table with a loud _thump._ “What do you wanna know?”

Draco carefully set his own bag down, opened it and took out a parchment and a quill, positioning them nicely on the wooden table. He took his time with it, almost enjoying how Weasley appeared to be very impatient. He drummed his fingers against the table, before rummaging through in his bag too. Draco caught a glimpse of the inside of it, and it was a horrible sight. The bag contained lots of candy wrappers, some things looked like _half-eaten_ candy even, and parchment haphazardly thrown inside that was all wrinkly. It was nasty. He wrinkled his nose.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” Ron suddenly yelled. He held up one of those wrinkly parchments to the light and scowled. “There’s the ruddy timetable! It was in my bag all along! I’ve been looking _everywhere_ for that fucking thing! I’m so stupid!” He facepalmed.

“Yes, I’m glad you finally realised that,” Draco muttered beneath his breath. Thankfully, Ron didn’t hear him. Though he did hear when Draco added, “You’re awfully disorganised.”

“Yeah, I know,” Ron said, finally flopping down in the chair opposite Draco. He was chewing on a candy bar of some sort; Draco decided not to mention that it probably wasn’t wise to eat in the library. “One of the perks of having Attention Deficit Disorder, I suppose.” He said the last part, or rather tried to say it, in a joking manner, but, despite the smile, it came out just as grim as when he had talked about the book. It was obvious he didn’t like it very much.

"So what's wrong with this book?" Draco said, grabbing his quill. "I've been studying it, and I have to say, Weasley, that I don't particularly understand what it is about it that you don't like." He bit his lip, slowly writing _Interview, ADHD, Ron Weasley,_ on the top of the parchment. When he looked up again, Weasley had his arms crossed in front of him, the scowl back in place.

“Everything’s wrong with it,” Ron said bitterly.

“Care to tell me why?”

“Well…” Weasley kept chewing thoughtfully on the candy bar. “I don’t like how they write about it, for starters. It’s so prejudiced. Like they’ve already decided that…that I am stupid and…They portray it like it’s something wrong with me! How could I enjoy that; who in their right mind _would?!”_

Draco wrote this down, and then he reached for his bag again, pulling out _The Wizard’s guide to ADHD._ It was good to have at hand now, and he meant to show it to Ron so they could talk about it, but Weasley grabbed it from his hand before he could begin saying what he wanted.

"I mean, look at this!" Weasley said, opening the book and stabbing his finger furiously at the front page and handing it back to Draco, so the text was correct from Ron's angle and upside down from Draco's. He turned it around, giving Weasley a pointed look as he did so, and then started to read:

' _ADHD (Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder) is a mental disorder well known among Muggles and can be found both in children and adults. It shows in the Muggle child before the age of seven and is characterised by Inattentiveness, such as having a short attention span, being easily distracted and appearing to be unable to listen to or carry out instructions, Impulsiveness and Hyperactivity. The affected Muggle is constantly fidgeting, unable to concentrate on tasks, cannot wait their turn, acts without thinking and talks excessively. He or she also has little to no sense of danger._

_ADHD is seen as a learning disability, but it is also vastly discussed in the Muggle world if this is real. Some Muggle scientists believe that the affected child will grow out of it; however, there has been proof that it doesn't always happen. A lot of Muggles with this type of mental disorder turn to a life of crime, as they often feel misunderstood. ADHD may be a result of bad parenting as the child is often very lazy._

_AD.H.D is very, very rare in the Wizarding World, however, since Muggles and Wizards started mixing together, cases have been found over the years. This book contains a helpful guide on how to discipline young witches and wizards to prevent ADHD from happening in your household. Please see page 45…'_

"Well, I mean…" Draco furrowed his eyebrows. "Forgive me, Weasley, but I've been attending classes with you for years. You don't listen very well to instructions, and you move around a lot—can you stop shaking your leg? I can feel it under the table!—and I've heard you interrupt others while they talk—let me finish before you object, Weasley!—so… I don't see how anything is wrong. These are just facts, stating as it is. Facts can hurt sometimes, I realise that though."

_Truth always hurts._

“Right,” Ron said dryly, stabbing his finger at yet another paragraph. “So turning to a life of crime, is that something I will do just because I have ADHD? It’s basically what the book says I will. Well, if we’re gonna be like that, between you and I, you’re the only one who’s gone down that route. And do you have ADHD? I don’t fucking think so.”

“Can you stop using such foul language?!” Draco said irritably, pretending that he hadn’t heard the insensitive thing Ron just said. “It’s annoying.”

_“You’re_ annoying, _”_ Ron scowled, “Do you want me to help you or not?”

“Yes, I’d like it if you could help me, yes.”

“Then stop fucking questioning when I say the book is wrong!” The redhead complained loudly.

“What did I tell you about the goddamn swearing?!” 

If anybody had walked past them that day, they would have seen something they sure had never seen before. Draco wouldn't call it that Weasley and he were getting along—because they really weren't—but Weasley had more than Draco had expected him to about the Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder. He tried to explain it as well as he could, words coming out in such a stream that Draco could barely follow along. He should have had one of those Quick-Quotes Quills, but then Ron's descriptions would have been transformed into something else that was inaccurate.

Draco listened intently—and perhaps with more interest than he ever cared to admit—and wrote down everything Ron said, hand aching two hours later. His head swam with all the new information. Weasley wasn't good at putting words together either, they just tumbled out of him and sometimes they were about something else entirely Ron also often repeated awkward and insecure phrases like _I dunno, uh, well, I don’t know what to say anymore,_ and so on before he told Draco more than he was prepared for anyway. It was honestly quite fascinating to listen to.

"I don't reckon I have a learning disability," Ron said, "but I dunno, maybe I do. I never get good marks on anything I do; I suck at doing schoolwork, and I hate it too. It's always boring; I don't like it when the teachers just drone on; I can't listen to it for very long. I often daydream and space out. It's like I have this ball of yarn inside my head, you know? And everything in my head goes by at ultra-speed. I take in everything; see and hear everything. It makes it hard to focus on things."

No, Draco didn't know, not exactly, but in this situation, he pretended that he did. He nodded and wrote down ' _ball of yarn’._

“And yeah, I’m shit at planning, really. Always been. Except for certain things, of course.” He scratched his nose.

Draco raised his eyebrows. “Like what?”

"Well, I suppose I'm good at chess," Ron said, looking past Draco's shoulder. "People say I have this sort of talent for it…" he air quoted the word talent, "but I dunno. Maybe I do, or it's just my family claiming that I do. Maybe they just say stuff like that to cheer me up, who knows? I can't seem to transfer it to anything else though if I really am good at it like people say. Like writing essays and reading and stuff. How does one do that? I hate reading, to be honest. And writing. Ever seen my handwriting? It's shit, I'll tell you that anyway."

_I’ll take your word for it,_ Draco thought. He wrote down ‘ _awful at planning, but does have a strategic mind?’_ On the parchment. “But wait, Weasley, why do you think this book is incorrect, again? It seems to me that everything you say can be found in it as well. Well, a life of crime might be harshly put, but—”

"But what?!" Ron snapped. "Would you like it if people went around and said that you-you're the most evil person since Voldemort just because you sympathised with the bloody Death Eaters?!"

Draco gaped at him. “What are you talking about? If you’ve been following any news or listened to anything people go around saying nowadays, you would have known that this has already happened. Still happens. I’m trying to move past my past, but people won’t ever forget what I did or forgive me either, I don’t think.”

Ron's ears went red, and he stopped himself. "Yeah…Sorry. I-I talk without thinking sometimes. Or all the time, maybe. Sorry. Forget what I said."

Draco shook his head. "It's okay, Weasley." He swallowed, looking down on his paper so Ron wouldn't see that the words stung. Weasley must be incredibly dense if he hadn't heard anything that people said. Draco heard people whisper, saw them leave the room when he entered. They did the same with Pansy and Blaise, but Draco was the one they did it to the most. He was very good at pretending it didn't hurt him, but going from a popular status in at least the Slytherin House to being the most unliked person there had been quite the change. He wasn't used to it. Any of it.

"People think I'm weird too," Ron suddenly said, the words appearing to be out of the blue and had very little to do with the last thing that had jumped out of the Gryffindor's mouth. "At least I feel that way. They always say I just need to try harder. That's all everyone says really."

_Okay._

"Time for a group assignment!" Professor Philtre said a dull Monday morning to the sad little group of students that had bothered to show up to his class. Word had gotten around there had been a massive party that previous weekend—not that Draco would know about it. He wasn't invited. Scanning the room, eyes falling on Weasley, whose fiery hair was the only thing he saw, as he had put his head on his arms and seemed to be taking a nap next to a scowling Granger, he wondered to himself if Weasley had attended that party. "We're working in pairs; I'll be choosing the groups, and you won't complain. Understood?"

“Yes, professor Philtre,” echoed the tired students back.

Pansy stifled a yawn. Blaise drew on his parchment. The minutes ticked by as the professor gave each person a number and those with the same number were going to work together. He walked around patting everyone on the arm and declaring in a loud voice what number they’d been given. “One, two, three, four, one, two…”

Draco had been tossing and turning all night, having a bad dream. The nightmares came in uneven waves, some nights were harder than others, and some weeks he didn't have any nightmares at all. He imagined he was starting to overcome them, to cope with them better, but no, that couldn't be more of a lie. Draco Malfoy had never and was still not, coping well with nightmares.

These ones were, of course, different—not the same childish ones he used to have when he was younger. Narcissa couldn't comfort him this time either; he was all alone.

_You’re disgusting._

_Why haven’t you committed suicide yet?_

_I hate you._

_I hope you die._

In the worst nightmares, Draco was trapped in a corner with people standing around him, forming a half-circle while he was pressed against the wall, the stone-cold on his back. Somewhere in the distance, he could hear his aunt Bella cackle loudly, screaming _'Kill the Mudbloods and blood traitors!_ In a spooky voice; he could feel the presence of Voldemort getting nearer and nearer, and he saw Lucius saying how disappointed he was in him. The Death Eaters wanted to murder him; the dead muggle-borns came back and took revenge. They all were after him, screaming, screaming, screaming. And then the Muggleborns would whisper that no matter what he did to improve himself, he would never, ever be good enough. One night he had woken up screaming, another one soaking in sweat and crying. He was glad he always kept the curtains shut around his four-poster bed, so Blaise wouldn't see him in that state. He'd never let it go.

"For this project," Professor Philtre announced, "You are going to create your own potion and then write an essay on what you've attempted to create and the effects you hoped to achieve. Now, remember. This is not something I actually expect you to be able to succeed with, to create a Potion that works, but I will grade you based on effort—it has to be a believable potion and look like you at least tried— and on what you write in your paper. How detailed you are and so on. Don't make anything too complicated, though, as you can get bonus points if you get it to work fully in the intended way."

The class groaned; no one was excited to do this. Except for Granger, maybe, but Draco saw her face fall when she realised who her partner was.

Pansy, on the other hand, looked pleased. “It’s written in the stars, darling,” she whispered dramatically to Draco and smirked. “This is my moment to get close to Granger.”

“Mhm,” Draco hummed in reply, not really paying attention. He looked around for his partner, only to realise that he had been paired with no other than Ronald Weasley, who with heavy steps had managed to drag himself out from his slumber and over to Draco’s worktable.

“Brilliant,” Ron rolled his eyes. “Make a potion with you, the ultimate dream.” His voice was full of sarcasm.

"Yes, exactly," Draco answered a bit stiffly. Ron had dark circles under his eyes. He looked like hell if Draco was completely honest. He was about to ask if Weasley didn't sleep at night either and why that was, but Weasley was busy taking stuff out of his school bag and laying them in a neat pile on the table. He noticed that something was different from the last time, well, the candy wrappers were still there, but he had a new, shiny notebook and quills with different colour ink to them. One of them was purple, then there was a blue one, yellow and… a _pink_ one.

It all looked very girly.

“What on earth are you doing?” Draco asked.

“I’m preparing,” Ron answered simply. “Planning and whatnot. I’m a bit behind with stuff, so I have to— _fucking hell!”_ He had knocked one of the small bottles of ink over in his haste of putting things up on the table, and the pink liquid was now spilling out over the brand new notebook and the table. Draco was quick with his wand after fighting the urge to roll his eyes, cleaning up the surface and putting the pink liquid back in place inside the bottle.

“I don’t think you need this much to…prepare,” Draco said dubiously. Ron didn’t hear him, he was muttering furiously, red in the face.

_“I’m so stupid!”_ He continued to complain, rubbing his temples. “Messing up already…”

“What are you going to do with all these colours?” Draco asked, very grateful that he actually had some self-control so he could stop himself from doing what was very, very tempting to do right now. _Laugh._

"Easier to organise this way," Ron shrugged. "I can keep track of things easier, I think if everything has its own colour. Well, that's the general idea, anyway. I don't remember when I read stuff from the books, and I suppose we're gonna take some notes today, so…" He looked down, apparently in thoughts. Draco kept quiet, waiting for Ron to say something more. When nothing came, he nodded and opened his own Potions book. "Well, since we're working together, we might as well start brainstorming some ideas for the potion," he said. "Do you have any ideas right off the bat?"

Ron wasn’t listening again. He was busy looking at his messy timetable and squinting at it as if everything that was on there was very hard to read. Draco watched him with what he was sure must have been a puzzled look on his face.

“Weasley?” He tried with his most patient voice.

“I’m gonna have to redo everything,” Ron said, sounding a bit stressed. “It looks terrible. Shit, actually. I’m gonna have to make a new timetable; this won’t do…”

“Weasley?” Draco said again, this time a bit louder. When the redhead didn’t answer, he patted his arm carefully. It felt weird touching him, even if it was only on the worn-out fabric of his school robes.

“Hm?” Ron looked like he’d been asleep, blinking at him in the cold dungeon. “What?”

"What are you doing? We're supposed to be working together on this potion if you remember?" It was hard to believe how much of a mess Ron was.

“Oh, yeah,” Ron said, “Yeah, I suppose.” He looked so guilty that it was hard to not give in and feel sorry for him.

“So stop obsessing over your timetable,” Draco nodded to the parchment.

“But you don’t understand,” Ron continued, voice holding just the tiniest hint of panic, “I need to. I’m in so much deep shit with everything in my life. I need to-to fix things so everything can be…So I can get my life back on track and not suck so much.”

“But we’re in the middle of a lesson, you do realise that, don’t you?” Draco asked, all baffled, gesturing to the room where the other students were already busy planning their potions, looking up stuff in the book and writing things down. Some had even begun to look for the proper ingredients.

“Yeah, but I thought I could _multitask!”_ Ron hissed vehemently.

“Well, you obviously can’t!” Draco spat back, more than a little irritated now. “It clearly doesn’t work, we haven’t even _started_ yet!”

Ron crossed his arms defiantly over his chest, looking like an angry child. "Fine," he said and only then did Draco notice how Ron's eyes were a bit glassy like he was about to cry.

And Draco hated how it managed to tug only a little on his heartstrings. _Stupid fucking Weasley making him feel guilty._

“Look,” Draco said, not believing what he was about to say. “If you and I can get this assignment started, I can help you fix your timetable. If you want, of course. I could do with some more help with the essay too if you’re able to. What do you say?”

Ron seemed to perk up at that. “Yeah, okay. Wednesday after lessons?”


	6. Chapter five: Ron

**Chapter five: Ron**

Ron had trouble sleeping. The time was four in the morning, and he was staring at the fabric-clad ceiling of his four-poster bed. He hated so much that the bed next to his was horribly empty. The bed that used to belong to Harry.

Ron hadn't slept since two o'clock; his brain didn't cooperate with him when he tried to relax. It was constantly talking, constantly buzzing; he heard everything from music to questions in his head. Questions he needed to answer, because how could he fall asleep when everything going on in his brain was so interesting? He didn't have answers to them all of course, but theorising and thinking about them gave a certain thrill. Like _what was really the function of a rubber duck?_ He (and not to mention his dad) never got a proper answer to that and Ron had never thought of asking Harry about it later either. But he should. He should owl him and ask; maybe he would finally find out. He hadn’t talked to Harry in bloody ages either. That could be his excuse to actually write a letter to him.

_Harry doesn’t care about you anymore,_ came the voice in his mind. The voice of full hatred that Ron always hoped would go away, but never did. His self-confidence had always been embarrassingly low, but that was of course not surprising since he was such a stupid prat. Who wouldn’t have low confidence in his position?

Harry had not exactly stopped talking to Ron. It was just that, ever since Harry started going out with Ron's sister and got that Auror's job at the Ministry and Ron was stuck at Hogwarts, Harry and Ron had sort of fallen out with each other.

It wasn’t really anyone’s fault; they were both pretty busy these days. It happened. It wasn’t really Harry’s fault that Ron was a little (or maybe a lot) jealous either, that many of his thoughts at night were about why the Ministry had overlooked him and chosen Harry. Well, he could understand _why_ they chose Harry, but hadn’t he—Ron—fought in the war too? Hadn’t he been any… _good?_ Ron had always thought he wanted to be an Auror, always thought the profession sounded—and looked— kind of cool. It was obviously dangerous, but Ron was no stranger to dangerous things. This was the Wizarding World first off, and you couldn't be scared when your best mate was the Chosen one and had to spend his childhood and teenage years fighting a dark lord. The three of them, Harry, Hermione and Ron had to grow up early—Harry more than anyone. But it still hurt that the Ministry had taken a look at them and decided that they _only_ wanted Harry. It crushed Ron's boyish dreams, and he felt at a loss on what to do. He couldn't be a Quidditch-player, he wasn't good enough for that. And too old now maybe, it felt like a profession that you had to start out with when you were younger. Not that he was old at the age of nineteen, but still. It would take years of training until he could play professionally; his days playing Keeper on the Quidditch school team for the Gryffindor house just wasn't enough. No professional team would accept him.

He wasn’t a scholar like Hermione. _I’m gonna end up cleaning corridors and toilets like Filch,_ he thought bitterly, turning to the side in his bed.

There was something else too. Ron was jealous of Ginny because she got to be with Harry. In _that_ way…And he would never…

No, that was stupid. But there was a reason—Ron suspected—that he and Hermione never got further than a kiss. It was Ron's fault, and it was more to it than the fact that he'd been so dependent on her. It was hard to admit even to himself, but Ron had _loved_ Harry. Like loved-loved Harry.

He wasn’t sure when it had started really, he just knew that it had been that way. A lot of Ron’s thoughts at night was about this too. _Did loving Harry like that make him gay?_ He suspected it did. _Was he okay with that? Would everybody else be? Should he come out? No. There was no point._

Harry had obviously chosen Ginny and had never been aware of Ron's feelings. Had never been aware of that every time he had had a nightmare, Ron had fantasised about holding him close, stroke his hair and kissing the pain away. He had never done so though, only stroking Harry awkwardly on the arm when they were kids, and Harry had woken him up by yelling—or sometimes crying—in his sleep.

Ron had fantasised about Harry in a million ways, but he had never dared to confess his feelings, and now it was all too late. Harry was with Ginny, and he was happy. Ron was with no one and was unhappy. Maybe Harry had thought that Ron was unlovable and that wouldn't surprise him at all. He suspected that he was. He scowled, closing his eyes. Ron contemplated getting up, considering that it was now five am and the alarm spell would go off in two hours anyway. He stubbornly kept laying still in bed though, hoping sleep would claim him anyway.

Ron decided to not owl Harry. It wouldn’t be of any use.

“How is your, erm, _planning_ coming along?" Draco asked, a bit apprehensively. It was late Wednesday afternoon, Ron had a headache, and he and Draco were in their "usual" (though it felt weird to say that they had a usual) corner in the library. Things were sprawled out all over the table, mostly Ron's if he was honest. Draco kept to a neat little pile in one corner, while Ron's things were everywhere.

“Grand, obviously,” Ron answered. When Draco still looked apprehensive, he couldn’t help a little smile. “Shit, honestly. Haven’t done any of it.”

Ron had decided to go into Hogsmeade when he had decided that he would make an attempt at getting his life together. It was probably attempt number three hundred or something like that, who the hell kept a count anyway? He had tried to get himself in check so many times before, and it always failed. Every time it did, he kept telling himself that he wouldn't fail _this_ time. He still told himself that, even though he knew exactly how it was going to go before he even started. The colours of his new quills made him happy, though, and Draco had promised to help. Well, if he hadn't changed his mind that was, you never knew with Slytherins.

Even if they had changed. _If they changed._

Ron wasn’t sure where he had Draco, but he was willing to see what happened.

“Thought so,” Draco said, nodding like he understood. “Well, hand me your timetable. You wanted me to…remake it?” He gave Ron an incredulous look.

"Well, my problem with it is that it doesn't look very good now," Ron said, rummaging through his bag for the timetable. He found it and slid it Draco's way across the table. "See, it's all ugly, and the ink is all smeared." He gestured to it. "Thought it might be easier to read if I colour-coded it maybe…But I haven't given it much thought, to be honest." He blushed. "I forget everything…That's my problem. Well, one of them. I forget when the lesson is and what I should bring to it and…I just can't keep track of anything. Hard to explain, but that summarises it, I think."

"I see," Draco said. He thought for a moment. "Perhaps you can think about what potion we should make for Philtre's potions class, and you can read that section in the book about how to make your own potion and take some notes, while I work on your timetable? I can organise it a bit so it looks better and you can find everything more easily. Then, in exchange for that, you help me with the rest of my essay. What do you say, Weasley?"

“Yeah,” Ron nodded, almost fiercely. “Great. Let’s do it.”

Never in a million years would Ron have imagined that he and Draco would do an assignment together without trying to kill each other. Never in a million years would Ron have thought the Draco would do something so weird as to colour-code his timetable either and make it actually look neat. It was something Hermione would have done if she had wanted it, but obviously, he wasn't spending any time with her anymore. He thought he would miss her, but found that he actually didn't. At least not right now.

Draco turned out to have mad skills when it came to organising. It seemed as though he’d been born to make neat-looking timetables. He wrote each subject in a different colour, drew thin lines and even wrote down all the materials Ron would need for each lesson, books and all. He finished by charming it so the ink wouldn’t smear and even added a spell that prevented the paper from getting wrinkles.

Ron stared at it when Draco handed it back, all amazed. “Wow,” he breathed, carefully touching the paper. “Looks awesome.” He looked up. “Thanks.”

Draco shrugged. "No need to thank me, Weasley. Hopefully, it works for you."

“Yeah,” Ron said, not sure if he believed it or not. Things never really worked out for him, but it never stopped him from constantly trying.

"Just don't forget to look at your timetable when you pack your bag in the morning. Everything you need is on that list," Draco continued, pointing to each subject. "You're taking an awful lot of subjects, though. What are you going to do after graduation?"

Ron shook his head. “No idea, truth be told. I thought I wanted to be an Auror, but, well, I don’t think so now…” he felt his cheeks heat a little. “What about you? Do you know?”

Draco didn’t answer; he started to look through his things instead and found a blank parchment and a quill that he lay in front of him neatly on the table.

Ron thought it was a little annoying that he didn't want to say. What was so bloody secret about it? Or maybe he didn't know—that could be an option of course. He decided not to press the question and told himself that he wasn't all that interested anyway, though deep inside, he knew it was a lie.

“Have you found anything?” Draco asked after a while. They had been working in silence each with their own thing.

“Yeah, I think so,” Ron said, looking up from the chapter on how to craft your own potion. He turned his notebook upside down so Draco could read everything he had written down. Draco’s brows creased when he examined Ron’s sloppy writing. He looked from Ron’s notes to the Potions book, shaking his head.

“Thisis almost identical to the text in the book, Weasley.”

“No, it’s not!” Ron took his notes back, protesting. “What are you saying, Malfoy, that I’ve been copying the material?”

He saw Draco breath through his nose, quiet for a moment. His facial expression was tense like he was about to lose patience but never really did. He pointed to the text in the book and then to Ron's notes. "Weasley, look here. You have not used the same sentences, no, but you've been writing down almost everything. That's not necessary. You only have to write down _the most important_ things. And you didn’t have to draw a little mushroom and copy the text underneath it either.”

"Hey, it's a nice mushroom!" Ron objected, and he must have objected rather wildly at that because Draco actually smiled a little. "You're just jealous that you can't draw."

“It’s horrid,” Draco said, “Did it have to take up a whole page? You’ve been spending more time drawing that ghastly thing instead of writing!”

“Well yeah, it’s more fun than writing. I hate writing,” Ron admitted. “I get bored easily.”

“I can see that.” Draco was quiet for a moment, then rose from the seat. Ron raised his eyebrows; was Draco leaving him now? But much to his surprise, Draco walked around the table and pulled out the chair next to Ron instead.

"You obviously need it, so I'm going to help you identify the most important things in a textbook," he said, turning the Potions book so they both could look atit, "It's a good skill to learn even if we don't exactly need to use it right this second, but just for practice… _Don't give me that look, Weasley."_

“This is boring,” Ron complained.

“It’s good for you.”

“But it’s _boring.”_

Draco’s stormy grey eyes bore into Ron’s blue. He stared at him for what seemed like such a long time, making Ron shift nervously beneath his gaze. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever been aware of just how _grey_ Malfoy's eyes were before, a sort of weird shade of grey that reminded Ron a little bit of thunder. "What do you like to do for fun, Weasley?" He asked, and Ron almost jumped at the question; he'd been so busy thinking about Draco's eyes, which were rather strange. Just a week ago—or was it two weeks ago—Ron had fantasised about hitting him again. Now he was thinking about what shade grey Draco's eyes were. _Weird._

“Uh…” he began, blushing, afraid that Draco might have read his mind and knew what he’d been thinking about, “Wizarding chess. I like that. I guess. Apart from, well, Quidditch.”

“I like chess too,” Draco said. “I’ll help you with this, then you can help me with my essay as you’ve promised _while_ we play chess. I have a shrunken version I keep in my bag. I can enlarge it so we can play. But you have to help me with my essay then.”

“You speak to me like I’m a child,” Ron said, giving him a dirty look.

“That’s because you _are_ a huge child.”

Ron snorted.

If anybody had told Ron as a young boy that in a couple of years he would meet up with Draco in the library and do school work together with him, he would have not believed them. He would also not believe anyone if they said that he actually would enjoy it. That would have been all sorts of crazy talk.

But actually, he found that he and Draco got along rather well for having been at each other's throats all the time in their younger years. That Wednesday afternoon turned into more late afternoons together, and soon it became a regular habit. Draco interviewed Ron, asked him loads of questions about ADHD and even asked what the difference was since Ron sometimes called it Attention Deficit Disorder and then Attention Hyperactivity Disorder and even Inattentive ADHD. It was all new terminology for the Slytherin, and he actually looked interested when he asked about it.

"It's basically just three subtypes of the same thing," Ron said. "With ADHD you have trouble sitting still and if you've got Inattentive ADHD—that people once called Attention Deficit Disorder—it's mostly just trouble listening, being forgetful, easily distracted and I can't organise. I have that, but I also have some symptoms of hyperactivity; sometimes my legs ache, and I can't sit still. Feels like there are ants under the skin sometimes. I dunno. I also don't like instructions, when people tell me what to do…"

"Yes, I've noticed that," Draco said, and Ron thought that neither of them would forget their most recent Potions lesson together, which had ended with Ron and Draco arguing because Ron had refused to stir the potion counterclockwise for ten minutes because it was boring. He gave up quickly when things weren't interesting enough to keep his attention, which was the reason that a lot of people didn't have any patience with him. They all tended to think thatRon was annoying, and he supposed that he was in a lot of ways. But Draco—as Ron had always thought was rather impatient—seemed to be the complete opposite. His patience with him was never-ending, even when he fucked things up and he always fucked things up. It was unavoidable.

"Were you born with this disorder?" Draco asked, writing things down as Ron spoke.

“Yeah, probably,” Ron said thoughtfully. “I guess I’ve always been this way. I don’t know anybody else with it, though. But the Wizarding World is literally shit at this, Malfoy. Something about not being interesting enough to research. But I think about it sometimes, wondering if there are more people like me, there has to be, doesn’t it? I still don’t like this book though, I hope you won’t include anything from it in your paper.”

Ron really hoped Draco wouldn't. It was such a disgusting book he was surprised that it wasn't written by Lockhart before he turned mad. It seemed like the type of book a guy like him would write. It was prejudiced and full of shit and made him hate himself more than he already did, wondering if he actually was like this. Like he was nothing more than trouble for people, which he often had gotten proof of anyway. Nobody put up with him in the long run. He sometimes thought people did, but they always distanced themselves from him in the end, making him feel unloved and like a waste of space. It was odd that he kept confiding so much in Draco, even though he told himself it was for the Slytherin's essay and it was important to give a better, more accurate picture to something he'd always had and just tried to cope with and survive. Deep down, Ron knew that he kept confiding for another reason too. Or two other reasons.

One: He was an oversharer. He told too much, always had. He was like an open book, and words just seemed to fly out of his mouth before he could stop them. Ron was an expert in saying too much.

Two: He was attaching. This part was scary. Despite their differences, Ron had to admit to himself that he was starting to _like_ Draco. How was hard to say. But he caught himself missing him when they weren't together studying in the library or worked together in class. Draco just seemed to _get_ him, and his never-ending patience made Ron feel a little better about himself. Maybe he wasn't such a nuisance after all.

Draco was a good chess player too and gave Ron challenge after challenge when they played. It was actually fun; he didn't give Ron the easiest time, which made winning seem more rewarding. When Draco won—which he sometimes did—he laughed because Ron was such a sore loser. 

But the best part was when Draco handed in his essay and told Ron that he had decided not to use the book at all. He wanted to give a fair portrayal and had written it entirely from Ron's point of view. That felt really special.

Felt like he cared.

"I have another assignment to do on the program," Draco said a bit tentatively to Ron when November had bled into December, and the house-elves had decorated Hogwarts for Christmas.

“Okay,” Ron said, moving the knight on the chessboard without looking up. “And that is?”

“Well, I have to do something good for somebody else, improving someone’s life. It’s a little hard to explain, I suppose…”

Ron shot him an amused look as Draco told him more about the _Respect, Love and Acceptance_ program Hogwarts had that had gone entirely over Ron’s head.It sounded like a course Sybill Trelawney would have enjoyed _immensely,_ Ron thought. A bunch of bohemian people probably under the influence of a lot of potions sitting around a magicked campfire singing. It sounded like it was what they did in there, but when Ron told Draco that, he scowled and told him that they _absolutely didn’t._

"But we have to do this thing, a good thing for somebody else," Draco said patiently while Ron sniggered, "Shut up. Anyway, I've been thinking about it, and I think I have an idea that I wanted to discuss with you first before I do anything."

“What’s that?” Ron asked, trying to stop himself from laughing more.

"Well, Weasley, you've been mentioning a lot that people just assume you are lazy…" Draco began, moving a chess piece across the board, "that you are often misunderstood and that people don't know much about ADHD in the Wizarding World. There must be more students at this school who have it, apart from you. My idea was that maybe we—I— could raise awareness, get people at this school to engage more and learn what it is so we can wash off the whole 'you're-just-lazy-thing'. I don't expect it'll work if I'm honest, but at least I can get my assignment done this way, and I've already written an essay about it. So I thought—"

“You don’t believe in it?” Ron raised his eyebrows and smiled a little.

"I'm not sure," Draco said honestly, "But if people weren't crazy enough to try… we would never find out." He looked nervous, and his cheeks had a pink tint to them.

Ron blinked, a little shocked the Draco had actually proposed such a thing. Was it to ridicule him? It all seemed weird, but before he could ponder too much about it, he'd already said "okay."

And that was that.


	7. Chapter six: Draco

**Chapter six: Draco**

**_December 1999_ **

“A school campaign? That’s your _Pay it forward-_ assignment?” Pansy asked, a bit incredulously over breakfast. She sipped tea, watching Draco’s many things sprawled out on the Slytherin table. “Aren’t you starting a bit late on that? It’s due in January.”

“Yes,” Draco answered shortly, “That has a simple explanation, Pansy. Have you started on yours?”

He heard her huff and smirked at her annoyance. “Well, maybe I have, maybe I haven’t. What’s your campaign about, anyway?”

Draco looked up. “Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder.”

Pansy frowned. “Really? That rare Muggle thing?”

“The _common_ Muggle thing,” Draco corrected her with an impatient sigh, “only rare among witches and wizards.”

“Oh.” Pansy took another sip of her tea. “I see.”

Professor Pax had been pleased when Draco handed in his essay. Instead of writing down things from the book, he had chosen to write about Ron—or an anonymous student as he was called in the paper—and how things were for him. He'd made sure to include every struggle Ron had told him about.

Ron, in turn, had tried to explain as much as he could; they'd been meeting up in the library a lot the past weeks.It had given him the highest mark on the essay, and he was happy about it.

Writing the essay and spending so much time with Weasley as of late, had inspired Draco to take this to the next level and use the ADHD-topic for his larger assignment as well. He'd promised himself this year would be about change and doing something good for Weasley—and other students suffering from the same— was a good place to start. He'd been honest with Weasley that he didn't particularly believe it would have any effect, considering that Draco wasn't very popular in the school nowadays; he didn't have a lot of people who actually liked him. Well, he had no one that actually liked him, if you didn't count Pansy and Blaise and they thought it was a little strange that he was so caught up in this whole Weasley-thing. They smirked at him whenever he mentioned it, which made Draco's eyes shoot daggers at them. They smirked even more when they saw how much he had planned for it.

“It has to be convincing,” Draco said testily to them one afternoon, “The whole point of it is to raise awareness, mind you, and I don’t have a good reputation at Hogwarts due to my past. I have to make it like this: if I just told people no one would buy it. It can’t just come from me.”

“If you say so,” Pansy and Blaise said almost at the same time, “it has nothing to do with anything else at all, does it?”

They thought he was going overboard with the whole campaign about the Attention Deficit Disorder awareness. An empty classroom was serving as a room which students could enter to learn more about the three types of ADHD, and upon walking in, you were instantly overwhelmed by all the decor: the room was decked out in colourful banners, tables with pamphlets of information, big signs hanging on the walls—much to the dismay of the talking portraits— and if you walked by any armour in the school it was charmed to tell you a random fact about ADHD. Especially Inattentive ADHD, since it was what Weasley had.

Draco had even gone as far as to rewrite the _Weasley is our King_ song _,_ it was now a longer one about wizards prejudices towards the diagnosis and how wrong they were that would play on repeat in a certain school corridor. He also walked around in the classrooms and educated the younger students and found that other kids also suffered from the same type of mental disorder as Ron. They seemed grateful for his endless efforts and told him that they felt like the Wizarding World wasn't educated enough on the subject. A little first-year girl told Draco that in the Muggle world there was medication for this, but not everybody had to take it, only some. She said that she sometimes felt that she needed some type of Potion to feel calmer on the inside because there was constant chaos in there.

"But there's no potion for this here; it doesn't exist," she said, shaking her head so much that her curly hair danced. Draco thought about those words. He had been able to research a little bit—the best he could anyway— on what type of medication that existed for Muggles with ADHD and had ended up taking care of his and Ron's _craft your own Potion_ homework single-handedly, now trying to craft something similar that could help to both calm the person and help them be more focused. It was more difficult than he had anticipated, but at least he could try.

Ron's disorder and spreading awareness about it had started to become almost like a hobby for Draco, and within the first week, it had actually gotten some attention in a way that took him by surprise but that he actually felt comfortable with. So much that it looked good in the newspaper; the ex Death Eater helping to make life better for both Muggles and witches and wizards with the Attention Deficit Disorder. Ron hated _the Wizard's guide to ADHD,_ so Draco tried his best to get rid of it. Madam Pince, of course, didn't want to and he couldn't exactly use _Incendio_ on every copy she had, but he brought up the suggestion that somebody should write a new book.

Soon everybody was talking about the campaign.

Draco had been careful not to build the campaign around Ron. Weasley was never mentioned or shown, but he had undoubtedly been the inspiration. Everybody didn't have to know that. Though he wondered if a lot of people knew anyway, how much Weasley had been telling them. _If he had told them at all._

“This is weird,” Weasley said, when he stood next to Draco one day, watching him charm another banner to permanently float in the air. “You’re really going…full out on this.”

"Yes…Well, I wanted to make sure it got as much attention as possible," Draco said, "it's good; otherwise I can't make a change." He could see Ron glance at him out of the corner of his eye.

“Yeah…I guess,” the redhead mumbled, “that you’re right about that.”

Making a change was important to Draco, that was why he was here. He came to Hogwarts as one type of person and was going to do everything he could to leave as another. A much better person; a person that had washed off the mental stains of belonging to the Death Eaters. He wanted people to view him as someone good, and he already thought about more possibilities on how to expand the campaign. Professor Pax was happy with him too—Draco had been the only one who had chosen such an advanced project, and she followed the campaign with great interest.

“Is it somebody special in your life that has ADHD?” She asked him one day after a long lecture on world wars in the Muggle world and how to achieve peace. Her huge doe-like eyes seemed to stare into his very soul at the question.

_No,_ was Draco’s response he wanted to go with. It was his automatic reply to what felt like personal questions. Was this a personal question?

“A-a friend,” he ended up saying, the word leaving a bad taste in his mouth. _Was Weasley really a friend? Could he say that and mean it?_ They studied together and often ended their sessions with a game of chess. They both liked it, Ron a little more than Draco, and he had found that he enjoyed seeing the joy in the redhead's blue eyes. It sparked something good in his chest, a different kind of joy that he had never felt before.

Whenever Draco had been mean to someone when he was younger, he had felt glee pooling in his body, running through his veins. It had undoubtedly felt good at the time; he got high on taunting others, especially those that he had considered being lower than him in rank. They had always been lower—especially Potter, Weasley and Granger. Weasley had been so fun to tease; he'd been poor and ill-dressed and clumsy and daft. But now Draco caught himself thinking back on it all, and he didn't like what he remembered. He didn't like that he had been so terrible to him, or anybody, especially not now when he'd gotten to know Weasley as the person he was behind the outward appearance and realised that he had been all wrong. Well, Weasley was still poor, and his clothes went back several generations, and he was more than a little clumsy, constantly tripping over his own feet. But he wasn't daft. He was intelligent in his own kind of way that had nothing to do with school. He had a fascinating mind for starters, he played chess like Draco had never seen before. He was definitely a challenge for him. Draco had always thought that he'd been good at chess, constantly winning over his Slytherin mates, but Weasley put up a fight on the chessboard that he hadn't seen in anyone else before.

It was actually incredible. Draco enjoyed it—playing chess with others had almost become boring now, so he always made sure he and Ron could play together; it was certainly more enjoyable than with any other.

"Your friend is lucky," Professor Pax said with a smile. "Not a lot of people and especially not in your age would go to such great lengths to try to make a change for them. What you're doing is a wonderful thing. I'm sure your Mother and the Ministry is very proud of you."

Draco wasn't so sure about that. He hadn't spoken to his mother for weeks, and nobody from the Ministry had reached out to him.

“He’s not really my friend. More of an acquaintance.”

“Well, that acquaintance is lucky then.”

"What you're doing now is too much for a casual friend," Pansy commented on Christmas Day. They were both at Hogwarts over the holidays, having a little celebration of their own in front of the fire in the Slytherin common room. Well, at least for a little while; Pansy was staying as moral support before she had to go somewhere—where she was going was a secret—because Draco was going to be all alone tonight and she claimed that she felt sorry for him. It was depressing that he was going to sit alone all night, she told him. Blaise was off doing Merlin knows what too.

“Why don’t you ask Weasley what he’s doing? I guarantee you he’s still here too, probably all alone in the cold, cold Gryffindor common room,” she said, batting her long, dark eyelashes. “You can, I don’t know, discuss ADHD together or something.”

Draco glared at her from the book he was busy reading. “Don’t you dare, Pansy. Weasley and I are _not friends._ ”

"Of course not," she said with a sly wink. "You're not. Which is why you should go spend time with him. Stop being so stubborn. We obviously couldn't keep any rules we set up for ourselves before getting here, and you clearly need some fun. There's no reason two lonely people can't be lonely together. It's more fun." Pansy got up from the sofa she'd been sitting in, smoothing out the black dress she was wearing. "The password to the Gryffindor tower is _Courageous._ Yes, corny, I know. Do what you will with it. I’ll be going now.” She bent down to kiss his cheek and then went on her merry way, leaving the air smelling like vanilla behind her.

Draco just gaped in her direction. _How the hell did Pansy know what the password to the Gryffindor tower was?_

Did he really want to know that?

Absolutely not.

“Courageous,” Draco said in a _very_ low voice to the portrait of the fat lady precisely three hours later. He didn't want to do it, but a half bottle of wine later, the liquid had convinced him that this might be a good idea. Weasley was probably lonely, and he shouldn't be. It was rude or whatever. Draco's drunken mind thought that Pansy Parkinson was brilliant for having come up with the idea, it seemed like the right thing to do in a moment like this. It was Christmas, after all. Not that he had any idea what he and Weasley were supposed _to do;_ the chessboard was back in the Slytherin dungeons. Weasley must have one of his own, Draco thought dizzily, of course he had.

He had wandered the castle until he found the entrance to the common room. The Fat Lady was fortunately drunk too and happily swung forwards with a giggle to admit him after he’d repeated the password three times. Draco had never been inside the Gryffindor tower before.

It was empty, save for the redhead who sat on the floor in front of the fireplace with his back facing Draco. He thought that it would be fun to scare him and walked on light feet to where Ron sat, careful not to be heard.

"Fuck off," he heard Ron say, causing him to freeze in his movements. He thought for a split second that Weasley was talking to him and opened his mouth to protest. He wanted to tell him that he was rude. But then the redhead continued to talk, and he sounded drained.

“Seriously Charlie, I’m begging you, no, don’t put Mum on or I swear— _Hi Mum.”_

"Hi, dear!" Cried the voice of Molly Weasley. "Oh, how are you sweetheart, I have _so_ many questions, you haven't called or anything, and we miss you _so_ much—Oh, Harry’s here too—Harry dear, come talk to Ron!—How are you and Hermione; where is she?”

Draco quickly ducked behind the sofa before Weasley turned his head and spotted him or worse—that his mother did.

“Mum, I—”

"How is school, you're not missing classes, are you? Hermione takes care of you, doesn't she? Doesn't she Ronald? Of course she does!—Harry come talk to Ron, quickly!—Do you need anything dear, food, cookies, some mince pies maybe, here, I've already packed you something; we miss you terribly of course…"

There were a scratching sound and a lot of background noise and then Potter and Weasley talked—very awkwardly—for a short while. Potter announced that he was engaged, and Weasley didn't sound thrilled at all, congratulating Potter in a flat voice. Then Mrs Weasley was back shrieking a little again, this time about homework, wondering how school went for her boy. Ron tried the best he could at answering her, telling her that the grades were getting better because he had some help.

_Yes, me,_ Draco thought smugly to himself. It was true. He had been helping Weasley a lot, teaching study techniques, even creating little cards that helped Weasley’s memory. He was very forgetful indeed; Draco had rarely come across someone with such a terrible working memory. Maybe Vincent or Greg had had that possibly, but Weasley definitely stood out.

He'd also been the only one that Draco had wanted to help, and he found joy in seeing how he improved. They had been sharing so much lately, and he enjoyed it.

“How is Hermione, dear?” Mrs Weasley said, interrupting Ron mid-sentence. “Where is she?! I can’t see her, put her on! We miss her terribly too, of course.”

“Mum, Hermione and I will never be together,” Ron said in a tired voice. “I know you ask about her because you hope for it, but we won’t. Ever. It’s been over for ages.”

“Ronald Weasley, what have you done? What have I told you about women?”

“Mum…”

“I have not raised you like this, so whatever is happening between you and that girl—fix it! I don’t want to hear anything else!”

“Mum!” Ron groaned, sounding frustrated. “Can I speak to Charlie again?”

“I can’t believe my own son, Ron—”

“MUM I WANNA TALK TO CHARLIE! ALONE!”

“Ronald Bilius Weasley, don’t you dare have that tone with me!”

Draco heard Ron sigh heavily. “Sorry. Mum, can I please talk to Charlie? In private. I’m sorry.” 

There were more noises, loud huffs and _I-can’t-believe’s_ from Mrs Weasley and then the voice of Ron’s older brother Charlie was heard. Charlie who lived in Romania and worked with dragons. Draco had heard a little about him—Ron had told him a little here and there about his family. Ron’s voice was tense when Charlie finally appeared in the flames.

“Sorry, Mum’s brutal, apparently,” Charlie said. “You know how she is. If she didn’t get to talk to you she would’ve murdered me. I’m telling you.”

“I hate you,” Ron bit out angrily. “Should’ve let Mum murder you.”

Draco heard Charlie laugh—it was loud and happy and carefree. "I really am sorry Ron. But what's up? I've grown up with you; I can tell when you're down. Spit it out, or I'll force you."

“Family’s not around now, are they?” Ron sounded a little worried.

“No—nope—they’re gone. So speak,” Charlie said. “I wanna know why my little brother isn’t feeling well.”

Draco listened as Ron sucked in a breath. His body was stiff as he crouched behind the sofa, listening intently. “It’s just that—”

That’s when he told him. Ron told Charlie about the ADHD-campaign that Draco had started and it wasn’t the words that Draco had hoped for that came out. Instead of words of praise and how happy he was that Draco had done everything he could to bring the diagnosis to the light and raise awareness and make people think at least a bit differently about it—Ron chose to say something to Draco entirely unexpected.

“This fucking campaign…I feel like what I’ve lived with all my life has been… I dunno...I just feel like nobody really cares about me…has gotten loads of attention because of me…”

“And yet he took all the credit for it…never mentioned me anywhere…”

They talked for a little while; Charlie said things to Ron, but Draco didn't hear him. He snuck soundlessly out through the portrait again, Ron never catching sight of him.


	8. Chapter 7: Ron and Draco

**Chapter seven: Ron and Draco**

**_January 2000_ **

The holidays came and went. Ron had spent them entirely alone, and it had been extremely depressing. He knew he had a mountain of homework to do; he was so behind on everything regarding school but had no energy to open a single one of those books. They were just there, down by the foot of his bed and collecting dust on his bedside table. He wasn't sure if it mattered anymore, though. Ron had done a lot of thinking and was certain of the decision in his mind.

He was leaving.

He'd only come to Hogwarts to please everybody; his mum the most and it had only left him feeling miserable in the end. He'd tried to create a proper schedule—that Draco had helped him with—but no matter how organised it was, it had only lasted a little while until he was back on square one again. Draco had helped him some with homework as well, treating him to a chess match when they were done as a reward, and some of Ron's results had improved because of his help, but then Draco made that school campaign, and it had all gone to shit.

Ron had felt so empty ever since it started, and it had taken him some time to understand why. And even now he wasn't entirely sure if this was _why_ he felt so empty, but it was something similar to it anyway.

_I genuinely thought that…he cared about me._

This had always been Ron’s problem. He was so bloody naive, and it was annoying. Why did he do this to himself?

Every. Fucking. Time.

Draco had been the one reading the damn book about ADHD; he had wanted to know more about Ron since Ron hadn't been able to keep his bloody mouth shut in the library and just 'happened to tell' him that he had that. They had started to meet, and then Philtre had paired them in Potions class, _and it hadn’t been a sign of anything, so shut up._ No, of course not. Ron had too much imagination. Then Draco had helped him organise his schoolwork a little bit with the timetable, and everything and the idea of the campaign were born. Ron had agreed to it. No, he hadn't really thought it through. If he had, he would have answered differently, he was sure of it.

Draco had gotten so much help from Ron, and he had chosen not to say anything about that. At all. The campaign had looked like he had done all the work himself, and he had, in a way, but every piece of information he had gotten had been from Ron. Draco hadn't as much as thanked him. He should have thanked him. Ron should have made him do it. How many times hadn't he tried to convince himself that _today was the day;_ he was going to walk up to Malfoy and demand that he credited him. Then once he saw him in the Great Hall at mealtime or in the corridor setting up more and more god-awful banners, he’d chickened out like a little bitch. Ron hated himself. And he was pretty sure that Draco hated him too.

He must hate him. Why else would he choose not to include him?

_Did Ron want to be included in the first place?_

Well, he would at least have liked the option, so he could say no if he wanted to. That way, it wouldn't have sucked so much that he wasn't included because he would have chosen not to be himself. Stupid Draco Malfoy with his grey eyes and blonde hair and perfect clothes and—

Ron cut himself off mid-thought, groaning, hands flying up to rub his face. He cursed himself for being so bloody gullible. For being so stupid and thinking that Draco might…he didn’t know, like him?

Why would he like Ron?

Just like he had attached himself to Harry, he had started doing it to Draco too. It was making him incredibly worried, especially how it made him feel. Ron's stomach had begun to do that weird thing every time he saw Draco, a tingling sensation surging through him when their eyes met or when Draco sat close to him, making him suck in a breath _every time._ Or stop breathing altogether. He hated that. And because Draco had been so interested in Ron’s diagnosis, Ron had thought that Draco must have felt something too because no one would go to such lengths if they didn’t feel anything for the person, would they?

Well, Malfoy had clearly proved that he felt nothing for Ron. The campaign showed it very clearly; he just wanted attention, and that was all.

Ron turned in his bed, sulking. He might just as well stay here forever rotting away. At least until he felt like he had the energy to start packing down his things, anyway.

In another part of the castle, namely the Slytherin dungeons, Draco was pacing back and forth in his dormitory. He was wearing the rug he walked on out, according to Blaise, who’d dropped that comment ten minutes ago when he’d been here to ’check on him’ because Pansy had demanded that he should.

Draco had been in thoughts ever since he overheard Ron talk to his brother in the fireplace. He hated the anxiety the call had awoken in him, damn Weasley. Draco had spent a lot of time scolding the redhead in his mind for stirring up those emotions inside him and making him regret past decisions. Like he didn't have enough guilt and anxiety; he felt like that all the time. _Stupid fucking Weasley._ Draco hated those damn, (not) irresistible blue eyes, fiery hair and freckled face… Hated everything about him. The look on his face every time he won a chess match and hated how he actually didn’t mind when Ron won, quite the opposite. Draco liked it. It was…fun. Enjoyable. He wanted Ron to win. He sometimes lost on purpose so Ron could win and Draco would get to see that stupidly happy look on his face over and over and over again. He offered to help him because he wanted to.

Draco supposed he came as close as a person could get to caring about Ron Weasley, without actually admitting out loud that he cared about him.

Draco had no idea Ron felt that way about the campaign. A part of him was angry with him for not saying anything and thinking that if Weasley hadn’t said anything, it was his fault. He was the one to blame because _if he had just told him how he felt,_ Draco would have…

He stopped dead in his tracks. No, that was a lie, wasn’t it? He wouldn’t have cared. He would have gone through with it anyway because he was a bloody selfish bastard.

_Here you are, wanting to make a change but all you end up doing is thinking about yourself anyway,_ he thought bitterly, flopping down on the edge of his bed. The campaign had driven them apart; they had barely talked to each other since that started. Well, truth be told, they hadn’t talked at all.

Draco hated to admit it…but he missed Ron. He felt empty without him.

“So talk to him,” Pansy suggested with a shrug when Draco forced himself to open up to her.

They shared a lot anyway, so he thought that it wouldn’t be any harm in talking to her. Her suggestions, however, made him cringe.

“No, I can’t just talk to him,” Draco frowned, “It doesn’t work that way.”

“Sure it does,” she said. “How else are you going to solve this dire situation you’re in, darling? You should never have left the tower on Christmas either. Imagine all the cuddles you missed out on.”

Draco sighed. “I don’t like him, Pansy. Like that.”

She shot him an odd look. “No, of course you don’t.”

“I didn’t mention him at all in the campaign,” Draco sighed again, “he didn’t like that.”

_I didn’t mention him because I didn’t want people to think that I was obsessed with him, I suppose, I don’t know now._

“No, I think you should have done that,” Pansy said thoughtfully, examining her newly painted nails. “I know it’s a strange thing for me to say, but I can understand him. He helped you an awful lot, darling. You can’t deny that.”

No, he supposed he couldn’t. “Maybe I should have chosen something else for the large project,” he mused out loud.

Pansy shrugged. “Or you could have mentioned him here and there, that would have worked too, you know.”

“I just didn’t want him to feel like…I thought I was protecting him from curious people,” Draco said, a bit defensively.

“You were afraid people were going to think that you two had a thing together. That’s what I think, anyway.”

_Well, yes, perhaps that too._

“What would you have done?” Draco asked her.

Pansy tilted her head to one side. “Well, what _do you want_ to do? That’s what’s most important.”

That was the thing. Draco didn’t know.

It was time that Ron cared about himself for a change. He spent a cold afternoon at the beginning of January when it had snowed particularly much that morning, to pack all his belongings back into his trunk. He wasn't sure where he would go; he just knew that he really wanted to do this; it felt like the right decision for him. He thought. He'd spoken to Charlie through Firecall a couple of times, and he had offered him to come to Romania. Work with the dragons for a while and figure himself out.

"You might like it so much that you wanna stay; I did," Charlie had said jokingly, but Ron wasn't so sure about that. He wasn't sure if he really wanted to go there—no matter how cool dragons were, they weren't exactly his thing. Plus, dragons currently reminded him too much of somebody, and he would rather avoid that.

_George might need help in the shop,_ he thought. That might be a good idea. He could help with stocking the shelves or something. George was still running the joke shop he had had with Fred; it was going well, but Ron figured it must be hard for him to run it all alone. It could be stressful, especially on special occasions such as Christmas and Halloween. But Ron hadn't really talked to George in a while, so he wasn't sure if his brother would like that idea or not. His mother would murder him in any case, he suspected she would be really brutal when he showed up at home when she wasn't expecting him. _If he dared to show up at home._ He would just have to figure it out; Ron told himself that everything would be okay. In one way or another it would, though he wasn’t convinced. Not really.

He was sad and felt empty, tired and scared. A part of him wanted to go to bed and sleep for days. Forget about everything. Another part knew he had to be Gryffindor about this—he couldn’t just run away.

_Isn’t quitting school running away though?_ The voice in his mind gently asked.

_No, this is what I want,_ Ron decided.

_What about Malfoy?_ The voice continued. _Wouldn’t you rather want him to talk to you? If you decide to quit school, you might lose the friendship you’ve formed with him._

_It’s not a friendship!_ Ron half-yelled to the empty dormitories, furious. _It’s not a friendship if the other person doesn’t care about you! Only about making a stupid appearance and show himself off and-and EVERYTHING!_

_You’re angry with him for the same reasons you used to be angry with Harry for,_ the voice said sadly. _Or maybe still are._

_No, I’m not!_ Ron thought, angrily tossing a shirt into his trunk. He should have done this by magic, but his wand was gone again. _It’s not that. Harry never asked to be famous._

_He chose Ginny over you; you spent so much time hoping he’d choose you. And you never thought that he couldn’t help how famous he was when you were in school together. You thought that he really wanted the attention when he so very obviously showed you, several times, that he didn’t._

SHUT UP! Ron roared to no one in particular. SHUT UP, SHUT UP, SHUT THE FUCK UP!

He threw a pillow with all the force of a Beater during a Quidditch match, and it was supposed to hit the opposite wall. Instead, he'd tossed it in somebody's head. That somebody had opened the door to the boy's dormitory in the Gryffindor tower at the very moment the pillow soared through the air.

That somebody turned out to be the very person Ron both wanted and didn’t want to see right now.

_Draco._

"What are you doing?" Draco asked, looking around the room. It was a mess. Stuff was scattered all over the floor; there were more things there than in Ron's trunk that he'd been trying to pack all day. The pillow had messed up Draco's blonde hair, which had been lying flat on his head before Ron sent the pillow flying.

“Packing,” Ron answered, a bit stiffly.

“Why?” Draco frowned.

"Because—what are you doing here? How did you manage to come in?" It suddenly occurred to Ron that one: they hadn't talked since before the holidays and two: he had never, ever given the Slytherin the password to the Gryffindor tower. He'd never asked, and Ron had never invited him here; he hadn't really thought about it. Well, maybe once or twice he had, but that had just been fleeting thoughts, not really meaning anything. He thought they hadn't meant anything anyway. Ron crossed his arms over his chest, looking at Draco with eyes lit with challenge, daring him to explain. He wasn't going to explain why he was packing unless Draco spoke up first.

“Erm…” Draco straightened his posture a little. “Pansy might have given me the password. Don’t ask where she got it from, because I have no idea.”

“She can’t go around spreading our password,” Ron said. “That’s illegal.”

Draco snorted. “I don’t think it is, Weasley, but I get what you mean. Relax though, I haven’t told anyone that I know your precious password to these ghastly dormitories. It looks like hell in here.”

Ron’s eyes moved over the room. “Yeah, it does,” he agreed.

“Anyway…” Draco said, carefully sitting down at the edge of one of the beds, “I was hoping we could talk.”

“Why?”

“Well, for starters Weasley…” Draco began, moving one hand slowly over the covers he sat on, “You are going to tell me why you are packing. And then…” He took a deep breath, “I may have something to say.”

Ron looked at him. He supposed it was no point in hiding the truth. He had said so much to Draco while they were spending time together over the past weeks, so to lie to him or not say anything didn’t feel right.

So. He told him. He opened up about how he hated to be in school, that he had never enjoyed being here and never wanted to return in the first place; he just did it to please his mother and make her happy. Ron told him—not that he thought Draco would care or anything, but he might as well go on—about how it felt like nobody cared about him; even though they sometimes said they did. He knew it wasn't true. By the end of his speech, he almost started to cry, and that was just embarrassing. Draco must think he was too damn sensitive—he had probably never cried in his entire life. Ron was a person who cried _too_ much, which _really was embarrassing,_ because he was a guy and guys did _not_ cry.

“When nobody calls me lazy, I’m just invisible,” he said, looking down on his many things on the bed. _Merlin, how many things did he have?_ "Nobody ever asks me how I feel or anything; nobody really sees me. They always nag me or get upset with me for not doing exactly what they want. They get angry when I don't hear what they're saying because they assume that I don't listen when I actually do, but sometimes people talk too much all at once, and I don't know what to say and—"

“Shh.” Ron was cut off mid-sentence when Draco, in two long strides, suddenly was in front of him. No, not in front of him, well he was, but he was pulling him in close into a… _hug? Embrace?_ He was warm and not at all cold like Ron had imagined. Draco wasn't as tall as him, but he wasn't short either.

Ron's heart sped up; he wasn't really sure why. The hug was so gentle. He liked that. His stomach tingled a little bit too when Draco held him like this.

“How are you?” Draco asked him in a low voice.

"Not good," Ron admitted against Draco's shoulder; when he had put his head on the Slytherin's shoulder, he didn't know. But it felt good.

"Yeah, I sort of picked up on that," Draco said. They stood like that in silence for a little while. Then it became awkward hugging, so they pulled away but still remained close to each other.

“I have to admit I actually thought for a long time that you didn’t care about me,” Ron finally said, eyes slowly moving all over Draco’s face. “You made that pretty clear when you made that campaign and left me out entirely, you know. I wanted to tell you. I should have told you.”

There. He had said it. Ron was nervous; his palms started to sweat, and that was embarrassing.

“I…didn’t mean to. I did that because I didn’t want you to feel like I exploited you or something.” Draco bit his lip, averting his gaze. Then he closed and opened his eyes slowly. “But I should have mentioned you. After all…it was you who told me so much about this disorder; I would never have known if it wasn’t for you.”

Draco took another deep breath. “In any case Weasley, I must confess that I went up here on Christmas and saw you talking to your brother through Fire call. That’s how I knew…how you felt about all of this…”

Ron stared blankly at him. "And you didn't say anything?"

When Draco didn’t answer, Ron shook his head, smiling. It meant a lot to him that Draco had visited him; he couldn’t deny that. Maybe when he had time to process what the hell was happening right now he would be a little irritated that Draco had been spying on him and heard all the things he’d poured out to Charlie—Ron rarely confessed anything to his family—but right now he was busy with that Draco was very close to him and he could feel his body heat radiate out from him. And it suddenly hit Ron that Draco must be as nervous as he was.

“Also…” Draco continued, voice a little uneven, “what can I do to make you stay here? I don’t think it’s a good idea to leave Weasley. It’s only one term left and if you left people would miss you terribly even if you don’t know that and those people never want you to make you feel unloved or not appreciated ever again. Because…you are very appreciated by those people. You matter very much.”

Ron smiled, tilting his head to one side. “Who are all those people?”

“Well, you know, they’re around obviously,” Draco said a bit irritably.

Ron raised his eyebrows, amused. “Yeah? Where?”

“Everywhere. Now stop asking questions, Weasley. In any case, they want you to stay. Because they have to stay until graduation and they’re a bit lonely and might have realised that you were the only fun thing happening around here. The only good thing. And they do care about you more than they ever cared about that stupid campaign. It means nothing. You mean everything.” 

Ron nodded. “You’re so weird, do you know that?” He asked in a low voice, his hand reaching out before he could stop it or think about it even, to gently brush Draco’s fringe out of his eyes. “But good thing I like you.”

“Good thing,” Draco echoed, his nose against Ron’s neck as Ron’s Gryffindor courage took over and this time it was him who pulled Draco closer. And closer.

The campaign Draco had created lasted all through January, February and March as well. It was a pretty awesome campaign, Ron thought when they took it down together at the beginning of April. Draco had made a lot of important changes to it, and now it was better than ever. It was never Ron's assignment to begin with, but he was just as involved as Draco was. It was their campaign now, not Draco's alone.

The best part was how it reached beyond castle walls. The Daily Prophet extended their previous article into a series, and Ron was interviewed about the lectures he'd had about how it was to live with the Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder. People got more and more interested and more and more people dared to confess that they felt like Ron did.

It wasn’t a school campaign anymore. It was a whole movement.

Eventually, a potion to calm the symptoms and help people with the diagnosis to focus better was invented by a very dedicated and talented blonde who'd always excelled in the art of crafting potions. If you asked Draco, he had created it because there were only so many chess matches you could play with your boyfriend before you lost your damn mind. And to actually have Ron concentrate on things better was nice for a change; it also helped to improve his overall mood.

The Wizard's Guide to ADHD? Each and every copy of it made a really nice fire.

_Fin_


End file.
